The bitter wind blows my face
as the snow piles on my boot-lace
and my hat flies away into space
and my mind strays far from this place
with you, my love, far away, me in disgrace.
The fragile trees rush by in my haste
more alive than me, gray branches laced
with bud and leaf remnants, like your grace
growing under duress of selfishness, my waste
of love given joyfully, squandered on my carapace.
I will repent, I will flagellate, I will retrace
my steps, fall down at your feet, effaced
in your light and wisdom, if you’ll allow me
into your space—
Please. I’m sorry. I need to see your face.
Without you, I’m a trace of who I need to be.
About the contributor: Josh Medsker’s writing has appeared in many publications, including: Contemporary American Voices, The Brooklyn Rail, The Review Review, Haiku Journal, and Red Savina Review. For a complete list of Mr. Medsker’s publications, please visit his website.
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