As you disappear through the winter trees,

I see you come and go like a sine curve wrapped

around the axes

of tall trunks

and flat earth.

I want to call,”Come back”

but my mouth won’t open.

My lips are dry without you.

I’m flooded with loss already,

though I can still glimpse you now and then.

Sun,so low and silver,

looks like the moon.,

my desolate heart its inscape.

my hands its freezing soil.

Staring as darkness falls,

Nothing left now


About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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