Torn

This view
Passing
On the wire
Of a lifetime once sought.

Noise
In early spring
Cracked the surface.
This can’t be the wrong thing.

Behaving badly
Like a trespasser in the graveyard.
Loss comes quickly,
Loss leaves slowly.

Once a spontaneous thought,
Now a moment held in private.
Healing the surface,
But torn below.

 

By Lauren Stock

 

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