Monday, March 19, 2012

Linda M. Crate- A Poem

you’re haunting 
your face is haunting,
it peeps out at me from
behind bluebells; I see
it behind wisps of lilting
white fog, I see it in the
faces of the rocks; but
you’ve been gone for
more than a hundred
years; I know you’re not
here, but you haunt me
everywhere I go, I do
wonder if the lilies are
not your missives that
send me slants of light
courtesy of your heart;
I see your face dancing
in every mountain stream,
I see you beckoning me 
with the wizened hands
of trees; you are void yet
an intangible tangible that
evades me on butterfly wings.

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