Each night I press
my ear to your
empty pillow
as if it were a
seashell, conch or nautilus
and while your
voice used to echo
each night that we were
forever and anchored
and true
your pillow now only
provides me with the deafening
silence of distant waves
from a now vacant shore
where we once laid with
bodies and words
intertwined in the sand
drawing a map with our fingers
and charting the path
of our journey to
a world of occupied
sheets and pillows
and flesh
where we would be
forever and anchored
and true
—
Please take a look at my book of poetry and short fiction titled “Songs you can’t dance to”
—
copyright 2013 Steven Harz
Steven Harz / Americana Soul 
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