Last Look

The look on her face
Was quiet and foggy
Stayed with me all day
Like a promise I’d made.

Now the trailor is gone
And she’s reduced to
Treasures we might
Scatter around.

 Sometimes we even talk
About them, looking away
At the tears forming
Trying to hide away.

Now she lives with the
Crying birds, and white
Clouds gathering in the
Thick air and sand.

And the roses have spread
The one we shared thorns
And pain-
This women I didn’t know.

12 July 05
 Dave Barber

Natural Laws

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