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Not Make Believe

How stark the white of the snow is, clinging to the new green of the trees.

This storm breaks exactly the way I do when you call for me.

How fragile we are.

How strange.

Can love exist without this desperation?

Gestures like light reflecting on the water.

I am so grateful,

I am so sorry.

My cells, like a chorus, crying out in unison.

Not just now but for all of time.

I can’t feel you enough.

Or taste you enough.

This is what I have been searching for.

© Elizabeth McLaughlin | April 16, 2018


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