Wednesday, June 21, 2017

A Language of Absence

I will leave the pressed flower in the book I never read

the one you placed into my hand so many moons ago

your own moon long eclipsed

I cannot now believe I carried those books thousands of miles

and your shadow longer


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2 comments:

  1. Nada AdelJune 25, 2017 at 2:25 AM

    Beautiful poem, Linda. I loved it. I read it over and over and just enjoyed and felt it every time.
    Love the picture you took with it as well.

    I've missed your writing

    Nada

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