Again, A g a i n, A g a i n, A g a i n

C. E. Witherow

It is not the wind scraping against
the windows,
it is the howling of a moment lost,
wavering branches
carving lines of “I thought we–”
again, again,
against the tempered glass
searching for a way
to finish the sentence.


Shawangunk Review Volume XXXI Copyright © 2020 by C. E. Witherow. All Rights Reserved.

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