Today's Poem from 7 months ago

[rwaterman]

One is the number that laments,
in grieving sorrow
That it is by its very nature
thrown out, in the barren islands,
to ruminate with the granite
and reindeer-moss

One is the lone, disconsolate blue,
the figure that waits in the shadows.
For no-one.
By no-one.
With no-one.

No warmth or support
for this unforthcoming hand
to cure the rank chills
that release from this soul.

I, He, She,
separate, alone,
but sewn like lips
to be the same,
to be as one
in shared sadness.