A Meditation at St. Andrew’s Memorial Park

Watching the dew gather
in a sigh upon the grass, your absence feels
like a spider loitering on the soul.

What strange tensility the soul’s skin has,
to endure for years the sledges of grief,
only to break now against the fog
raising its hymn
among the blushing maple.

Sometimes I’ve nothing left
but to touch that absence as one would
the cheek of a sleeping child
and marvel at how this dogged grove
weaves the sun and works the rain
into one more lush renewal.

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Published by

Ouzelum

I'm a writer originally from Alaska, but now residing in Washington. I'm quite promiscuous with regards to art and frequently hop from medium to medium. Currently I'm trying my hand at music and finding the learning process quite revelatory. I intend to use this blog as a chart of my progress as a writer, musician, and filmmaker hopefully meeting other artists along the way.

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