Image by Dascha Friedlová
Under the leaves which have freshly fallen,
Under the browned, softer ones and
Under the mulch and humus debris beneath them,
Lies my soul, chest to chest with the earth.
It’s the press of a lover.
Of longing.
Of anguish and a heart’s desperation.
A place where pride has long gone.
Are you there?
Can you feel me?
Across the improbable, your steps echo through the ground
A distant staccato as they walk unaware through their daily tasks.
I lay here in the undergrowth straining for every sound,
Every whisper that speaks to me of you.
It is an elixir,
A blade,
An addiction,
It is never enough
And it is all I have left.
© E Holland