The Absence.

the heart steamrolls to command

bulldozing breath……..


I remember my fingers

after mom’s death

grasping at

her absence

as it sliced through the air

on the blade of an aura


seventeen years,

two thousand one hundred five miles,

and one, deft digit hence

with a lone, silent signal

I pour my presence

into the palm of his hand


the universe sighs wisely

but bends only a little

. . . . . . .

out on the mesa

corralled by purple pueblos

and winking valium crumb pots

who witness

his spirit

he tears open his heart


to let one breath





© Ruth Ann Scanzillo


all rights reserved. Thank you.


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