for missy

December 7, 2018 at 5:44 pm 1 comment

for missy

at the shore once
i watched your hair fly
in the surf’s windy spray

i had not touched you
all that day: was it
anger or a game? (honestly, i can’t
remember…)

we had been becalmed
by strange coilings of mist
that seemed to echo
inner, unspoken fancies

(a rat ran through the surf:
you didn’t shriek, but merely
looked, and wouldn’t let me
kill it)

…it was our last day, alone
in the fog’s-sphere of sight…

the next day you disappeared.
if you were ever there, that is:

perhaps, conceivably, you
were only a fantasy, born
of the wind, the fog, the spray.
.

Entry filed under: Ancient Poetry, voices. Tags: , .

mountains dedicated to Quora

1 Comment Add your own

  • 1. samwise davies  |  December 7, 2018 at 5:46 pm

    I just remembered I never did submit that one. Bit late, now. But then that seems to be a theme lately.

    Reply

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