Cynthia Mac Pherson

Among the shades

Cold air dank on my cheeks
the smell of fungus, of damp moss

I dare not walk through this
fearful forest of rotting holes

ghosts loom, known yet unknown
I dare not leap into the mist

where shapes appear – your face,
and my children’s, between the trees,

father who doesn’t see
or hear me. ‘Come back’ I call out

but my voice is muffled
so I enter the pale silence

of that drifting forest
without direction or compass

through trunks festooned with moss
‘I have killed you; Please forgive me’

but cloud envelops you
shrouding you – floating elusive

your eyes enter my dreams
in my paintings your white wisp glides

and you haunt my poems
so I brave the rotten places

I dare to follow you
pouring into holes between trees

with fog settling, oozing
I have joined you among the shades

you look into my eyes
and morning sun warms us golden

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