staring back at me
he's having a ball
smiling through my eyes
at my sadness
indiscernible color and texture
this elevator has no walls
it goes up and up and up
i’ve come to terms
with growing old
but what’s that
even mean
I love wrongly
I clutch what leaves
which is to say everything
sooner or later
not as lament
but as fact
except for this dark
ripping through me
like a friend
Spencer Eckart is a poet living in Appalachia.
