Saudade

 

 

 

 

Genuine layers of shared soul,

a confidence

that it is you calling

and the phone rings.

The dog runs with me

to the window

before you turn at the corner.

 

You pass.

We mourn. Bury.

The despondence is an abyss.

 

An aching secret self –

a gnarled root in primal need –

slowly seeks sustenance,

grasps the thickest layer,

emerges as common womb,

begs to be discovered.

 

 

3 comments

  1. Craig,

    I have always called you the Philosopher Poet and that you are!
    I love the introspective turn you take for the voice of this poem.
    It is impossible to read it without experiencing it. Another favorite
    from your pen. (perfect title too!!)

    Like

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