Sunday

 

she sits alone in the dark
all that is seen is the light
from her incence

 

the air is warm but she is cold

an evening of empty itineraries

the smell of wood

 

her thoughts take her elsewhere
as time slips between her fingers
the light goes out

Reviews

[.]

you can see in this poem that her thoughts are far away, and
even though her thinking is unmentioned/rather obscure-you
can see that those ruminations are all consuming-and
in the last lines "as time slips between her fingers
the light goes out"~~u can feel her distress...
...great emotional poetry :)

:)

[Sarah McConnaughey]

This is a very pretty poem and you worded it really well. Great job. :)