The Practice
I'm not thinking of her today.
Not mind-walking
somewhere at the edge England
or at the side of a field now bulldozed by time.
When not thinking of her I do converse with her
with this constant breathing I practice.
Many desire the unattainable,
but untimely death steals even that away.
My ghost holds its breath beneath the earth
far longer than it should.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2023
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment