poem

 Last Thing

Last thing I write

No one will read

Last thing I hold

No one will save

Last thing I say

No one will reply

Last thing I see

Won’t be noticed

By anyone but me 

Last thing I hear 

Dies to the silence

Quivering in my ear

Last thing I feel

Won’t get shared 

Last thing I think

No one will ever know

Last time we spoke

Last time we touched

Last time we kissed.

When you're loved

There is the ache 

Of incomplete knowing

It’s a special kind of suffering.

This mourning of the missing 

And when I’m finally gone

I leave behind a wondering 

9/21/22