October 5, 2017 at 2:29 pm 1 comment


See, here, this
bed where she lay
(sometimes she laid)
with me, with me: i think
she has just gone, it’s still
warm from her body, she
must be near
must be quite near…


And recall
you’ve left, to not
Still, you’re scarcely gone.


“Real.  Long ago.  I’ve nothing to add.”  …

Entry filed under: of the heart, Pain, poetry, unending, voices. Tags: , .

sooths A Brief Note About “voices”

1 Comment Add your own

  • 1. samwise davies  |  October 5, 2017 at 2:30 pm

    So odd that the pain of those two poems put here in my blog remains quite undiminished. What is it like, to permanently forget?


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