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You who made a thousand angels blossom out of the night sky,

who banished ghosts from the cob-webbed corners of a darkened room,

who could stem the flow of time or dismiss it like an unruly child …

Where are you now?

Where are the mountains you once embraced,

those trees upon which you etched your name for eternity to measure?

Where once you sailed, is your boat now adrift and rudderless,

no longer searching for a harbor but seeking only open seas ?

Where now the hands that labored, and where the questioning mind?

Was it exile? Banishment? A broken heart?

What relentless straw was it, broke the camel's back?

And how is it I feel your presence even in your absence?

© Paul Wittenberger, 3/23/2017