She trusts. How does she trust?
A little. A mountain.
Like a river, flowing, babbling, without thought, without stopping.
Is it strong like the mississippi or gentle like a backyard boundary that cuts the property when it freezes up in winter.
A wind. A breeze.
Does it move the tall grass of the fields with hands so light they disappear or does it roar it’s power moving even the sea to dismay?
Does the faith grow?
Faith like bamboo, like poppies, like peace lilies leaning toward the light, curling in to hold close the precious light.
Faith and trust. Sounds like a law office. Like a sales pitch. Like a love salesperson fighting to keep the door from closing, trying to unload that last bit of love, collecting dust in the bottom of the briefcase, bored from lack of interest of who she really was, is and will be…
everyone bored her
she counted up to a year
then just over
and we separated for spiritual reasons
not religious but spiritual
but we didn’t
couldn’t leave one another
till the end of that year
I had worn her down the same way the ocean does the rocks
till she was able to grow again
clearing away the wreckage of her past
which just allowed for her to grow
and I knew that she wouldn’t with me in tow
so I moved aside
to let her stride
reach the lengths of forever—
I still hear the echoes of her footsteps
when I fall asleep at night.
Exorcising the ghost