Bon Voyage

Reluctantly, knowing
nothing would change, I left,
still powerless to make
a mark on water. Your
winter eyes stared empty
as your smile, your kiss cool
as easterlies, your words
measuring the growing
space between us. Holding
your hand, I memorised
the map etched on your palm,
charting routes not taken.

Lyn Moir
If you have any comments on this poem, Lynn Moir
would like to hear from you:

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