Filed in Gather Writing Essential by on January 11, 2008 0 Comments





(John, this was scratched on hard ground with a fingernail :-)




I see you.

From the corner of my eye

I see you cross the room

and again I am momentarily bemused

that you do not stop

until you find your usual place.

You sit composed, like a friend,

a friend coming for coffee and a chat.

Your visits have become a ritual

I can predict;

you come when I need

someone to listen to my whimpers

against the loneliness

of rain in October,

when the liquid pain of despair

makes everything an agony,

— to be awake is misery. 

Can you hear me,

you shadowy ghost

sitting across the room,

slowly fading, like my dreams.






About the Author ()

oh puhleeze! I am fat, I quack, and my feathers are molting. That's all.

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