Leave a comment

Trusting

Air of desertion
seeps from the shuttered windows.
No soul will escape from here.

An odd, clear pane
reveals her own startled face
trusting
he is where she left him
sleeping.

An old wood chair,
scratched, in need of new varnish,
props open the porch door.

But she trusts her instincts
and does not approach.

He is gone –
an old, old story
retold again
in a forgotten place
where small voices
are heard only
as fading echoes.

Advertisements

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 )

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: