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.

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