Sunday, March 16, 2014

Sensing Lulu

the loss that passes by
ghosts of smaller souls
cats, dogs even,
    low, behind chairs
they would, if they could
    touch me again
and I can't quite hold
the pastel smoke of their presence
just a glimmer, a tiny sentence
then their little music fades


  1. Beautiful poem, Lorna. I like this a lot: "...smoke of their presence /... a tiny sentence".


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