Not There
This morning one bird awoke first,
breaking the night with a spiral tongue -
I was not there.
Under the oak tree mud bloomed stars -
I was not there.
For a while the sky hung as a still blue prayer
I arrived late; was not there.
I was crouched over hoarded words;
yet those words did not happen,
and now will not appear.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2019
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