It Ends With Words
You guide my hand from beyond
with a posed, black-inked pen.
The words flowed effortlessly
as if not my own.
They always seem
to hesitate the longest
at the end of the line.
Palpably affected
by the last word written
without rhyme or reason.
If I briefly pause
for a lingering thought
and listen closely enough
I can almost hear
a troubled poetic sigh—
your final goodbye.
Until my verbose reflections,
once more lie exposed
on the flesh of the page.
It’s there I’ll feel you again.
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