Gone
October 24, 2018•47 words
A shard of pink cloth
framing a small face
now blue, and still
meaning without time
or absentminded past.
Instantly unconscious,
perception stems
from whatever carbons
clung through these
adequate limbs.
Eyes roving amidst
the moorland slumber,
still jotting upon
spent clay, depending
on a new farewell.