Monday, November 2, 2009

Hard Shadows in November

You should be dead

to haunt the living

the empty chair at my table

the meals I eat alone.

The candle flickers

from a whisper

unheard by anyone

but me.

It is the emptiness you leave

the open space

in my heart

where the rain falls in .

The vast expanse of the Arctic

bedclothes always


The laughter unechoed

the thought held and

worried smooth by silence.

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