untitled 4.21

What is lovely has left us:
No harbinger, no dove’s entrails,
no smoke sign at dawn.

What is lovely has left us,
silent, sightless, slipped away
quick and tender-footed.

We count them, nameless,
golden stones on an abacus,
tallying what has gone.

Photo by Jose Llamas on Unsplash.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s