A Mystery
At the water's edge on the deck of a dream clinging to space
The woman felt depression lift, perhaps only by a centimeter, but lift it did.
She knew the past made love precarious for all that had happened here.
Her presence could smother remains of the pain that was birthed in this place
Where looking and seeing and saving began.
An exorcism if you will, of what (or who) did not belong.
And now? Love is not so precarious as it was, please God.
Not at all.
No comments:
Post a Comment