SUMMER GHOSTS.
5/9/11
His back turned to me, I breathe
deep
Like a whirlpool of neglect
Beside him, alone
A soft voice sings a lullaby
Promising that all sweet things will
come again
And I look for you
This desire to disappear
To fall from grace
I share it too
But no thought forgotten
No gasp, no tear or shiver,
No care will fade.
You and I, forever entwined,
These shackles will not break.
© BLAYKE MORROW, 2011
