older, older, this slow retreat of you vanishing like one glove lost while you are ending, someone, somewhere, is beginning from woman to woman our songs stride in odd moments watching soft dark not far from here simple as an apron— stronger than night your feet may stumble hers will run older, older, older I know time has stopped and another, begins where a spirit has just passed
©2021 Judy DeCroce
All rights reserved
The BeZine 
This is a lovely narrative, Judy. It has so much depth yet it is so spare, you can see its bones. Thank you for this lovely tribute.
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This poem has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
https://thebezine.com/2021/12/01/the-bezine-announces-pushcart-nominations/
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This poem has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
https://thebezine.com/2021/12/01/the-bezine-announces-pushcart-nominations/
LikeLike