Existing alongside their ghosts
that leave me haunted by their words
gathered and scattered like wounded thoughts,
like scars star shaped and wished upon under
the moonlight of these ravished dreams that
live in the small bits of darkness savored

And I am folded and pressed at the edges
stuffed into pockets, books and pages
unseen in the light

Invisible, their pain is mine to keep
alone in the lonely passing of hours
where the sorrows of their beautiful weeping
absorbs me ’til I am no longer the keeper
but the one being kept

Debbie Berk / May 13 2015