Monday, March 14, 2016

The Next Morning Not a Cloud In Sight




My love you walk like wind sighs...
slippers, slide slowly;
flashing my eyes, heartbeat chase.

Wood floors weep lamentations,
light from down the hall
casts you divine and longing.

Thinking lightly on a lark
outside the window;
it sings for us, then the Sun.

4 comments:

Cloudia said...

The lark heals our souls! Thank you Eric

eric1313 said...

You're welcome, Cloudia! Love wins, peace wins - we all win if we let it happen.

Charles Gramlich said...

Very nice. One of my favorites of yours recently.

Ultra Toast Mosha God said...

'Love wins, peace wins - we all win if we let it happen.'

Amen.