mark the number
of days of falling
into loss
no handholds
only slippery ones
hanging loosely
from tongues
from threads
beckoning, urging,
cajoling—Hang on
to me! Gotcha!
underwater blips,
radar, red herrings
falling still past
the 100
looking further
down
hundreds more
beckon
want to be spent—
hold onto that longing—
taunt with ropes,
scaffolding,
promise news
further down
much further down.
Anne Graue writes poetry and teaches online from her home in New York's Hudson Valley. Her poems have appeared in Compass Rose, Sixfold Journal, VerseWrights, and The 5-2 Crime Poetry Weekly. She is a reviewer for NewPages.com.