eyes still wet with Irish tears,
her skin yet damp with mist.
See her there, at the kitchen table?
The kettle sighs like a windblown branch.
The curtains lift in an unfelt breeze.
A shadow ascends in droplets.
Her chair is empty.
The folly of March rain...
1 comment:
Nice the way you've worked the h2o images through-out. 'Course Eire is watery isle.
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