
Even not being there
doesn’t mean that they’re not
there. I mean, I’ve always
thought, that is, I’ve always hoped,
they are
a hair’s breadth out of reach,
one glance
from my trembling, angry, forgiving
and unforgivingly lonely,
missing-them heart.
Even not being there
doesn’t mean that they’re not
there. I mean, I’ve always
thought, that is, I’ve always hoped,
they are
a hair’s breadth out of reach,
one glance
from my trembling, angry, forgiving
and unforgivingly lonely,
missing-them heart.
Here
and then again
not here.
A choice? Maybe. A defense?
More likely. The one path still open
for self-determination
when if
is no longer possible,
when where
is no longer possible,
when why
has worn a hole
through a floor scattered with shell casings.
How
still can sometimes
be grasped in our hands.
Fly, dear friend,
with God, with hope,
with all our love.
Author of Multiple Books in Too Many Genres
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Award Winning Fantasy Author
I Am Who I Am
between dreams and reality
An Empyrean Cycle
Author of Historical Fiction and Fantasy
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