Ghostly Traces
Some would call it a gap.
Other, more sophisticated souls,
would say a split perhaps, where the fabric tore,
frayed edges the dead giveaway.
Is this where they err, though,
these learned ones?
The gift, its current boundaries
crackling with leaps and arcs,
lives a life all its own.
In an attempt to explain or define
their impressions leave behind
grey ash, a faint whiff,
ghostly traces.
YOU ARE READING
Out of this Earth
PoetryMusings on the luminous sometimes whimsical world of human love: Bring your heart to the Garden for a feast of Earthly delights but come prepared for unexpected twists and dark turns along the way.
