River Dixon

Come Looking: and other poems River Dixon

I guess we'll try this again. Flailing, grained, encompassed in yet another attempt to recognize our place in all of this. On foot, face down, torn apart. It comes eventually, passing in and out, around, difficult to contain and impossible to ignore.

Again, we grow colder, are left waiting, become lost in the hours. With the hope that one day someone will notice our absence and take the time to come looking. Unafraid of what they may find.