Again, Erika

Like a song one might not even have wholly
Heard on the radio, one which wafted past
The gently swaying saplings between
Your house and nextdoor, she's there.
It's strange. She's always there... but not.
I turn my head. I don't see anything.
I feel the pang I've felt at odd times
Since she left eight years ago. I've learned
To just be grateful. She is here, but not
Close by. I remain far off from her,
Though never quite alone.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 53 times
Written on 2020-01-09 at 02:42

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