Sunday, April 01, 2018

Blithe Spirit, Vol. 28, Number 1, February 2018

she wears
a circlet of moon
on her finger . . .
the sheen of their love
now softened with age

a large raft
of resting sea otters
holding hands . . .
I never imagined you
drifting so far away

my hands
falter upon the keys
until a bird
reminds me of songs
I have yet to sing

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