The Lie

There is bitterness in being this
pared-down, stripped
of all excess until all that is left
is bone.

We were shadow-play,
ghosting what we had, our talk
mere echo and our skin
its own memory.

The path ends here
and I have no feet to tread
another: too much loss
hollows the heart unfeeling.

Partings have unpieced me
and my clay is wire:
I cannot see myself now:
I look and see a liar.
Collected Works
Return to Collections all
next poem