Boreal Moon


Last night, 

when the moon 

was yellow 

and low,

I remembered you,

the way you looked

the day before you left

This morning,

when the bathwater

drained opaque

and boreal,

I heard you,

the way you murmured

“I’m sorry” in my ear

Right now,

as the skies

drizzle gray

and cold,

I feel your palm,

a ghost of steady pressure

resting low on my back

Tomorrow, next week,

in a month or year,

the touch of you,

smell of you, look

in your eye, 

I know not what of you

time will allow me 

to keep

March 2015

Exquiste Corpse Poem by Zombie Salon subset: Andrew, Julie, Tricia


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s