His Spirit

by Camilla Jean Welsch

He was like a red, black-masked bird in a winter forest.
And, I, like a loitering child, peering in through the trees from blanketed meadow,
with a trail of small, melted steps as my shadow.

Was he watching me now? Did he swoop and hide now
because he spied to take in my progress and location alone?

Sadly, I was never ready for him, really,
And I thought to myself,
and to anyone else, he would be imaginary.

But I longed to behold the human form of his spirit,
to hold him and keep him folded in my heart.

When? I asked sadly. Because it hurt me to be apart.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s