There are still days I find my way
to the corner of my ache,
curl around your memory,
and fill an old grief with fresh tears.
Days when nostalgia is an echo
calling from red canyon cliffs
and dreams fold familiar
fingers around mine
as I search for a handhold.
A ghostly apparition of virga
is a caliginous curtain
in the gathering storm
and when thunder shudders
through my pane, the flicker
in my pulse reminds me
I still search for you
between bolts.
Laurel
Dec. 23, 2023
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