sit a while, she said

in the company of old ghosts

we who have spoken to gods of the forest

and learned the secret sign

known to artists of the word

*

her ink spilled on my skin

and with it I wrote her name many times

into poem and song

and did not see her stand and turn

dark hair a shroud covering me

*

and the autumn came

and the leaves fell

and buried me

—

If you want to hear poetry from some Denver poets you can find episodes of my show, The Poets, over at thepoets.co

Cheers!

—

Photo by Omid Armin on Unsplash