Apr 2018
I miss you.
Here at the foot of Mount Royal
(really only a hill),
which I climbed this morning,
I miss you.
I ask what's real.
In this clamour of work,
of French and English ...
It's your touch that's real,
your eyes looking-at-me-with-love,
your lips.
Here in Montreal,
at the foot of Mount Royal,
I miss you.
Here at the foot of Mount Royal
(really only a hill),
which I climbed this morning,
I miss you.
I ask what's real.
In this clamour of work,
of French and English ...
It's your touch that's real,
your eyes looking-at-me-with-love,
your lips.
Here in Montreal,
at the foot of Mount Royal,
I miss you.
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem: humanist-art.org/old-site/audio/SoF_080_i_miss_you.MP3 .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
(67/M/Evanston, IL)
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