I still look up
Each time I pass
At the open window
where she
No longer sits
Except for the illusion
I create
A ghost of my own making
I would love to see
Again in the flesh
Yet never will,
I come and go
To and from the river
We both shared,
But not together,
Rarely at the same time
Yet chained to it
The river, the window,
Just as she was,
Cigarette dangling
Smoke oozing out
From between her lips
Some ritual of life
I can’t surrender,
Even if the reality
Out of which it sprang,
Ceased long ago,
I still stroll those places
Looking at the invisible imprint
Of her passing
Her pauses,
Even her prayers
I am a man
Stranded on an island
She on an even more
Distant shore,
At whom I cast my wishes
To watch the waves
Wash them all away.
No comments:
Post a Comment