Jared Carter

Tattered, it still shows her caress
           in strands that run
And stretch about an emptiness –
           where now the sun

Illumines them, as though a wheel
           had come unhinged
From some god’s golden car, to reel
           upon the wind

And melt away. No matter where
           he looks, there will
Be only absence caught by air
           grown richer still.

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