What is Left
A duck cuts the water, leaving a thin wake in the quarry.
It is silent. No wind.
You have sat here for a pair of hours, emptying yourself
of questions, of vitriol and doubt, waiting patiently
to see what is left.
About this poem
Alone time is when I purge myself of the clutter of life, and other people’s lives,
and reclaim myself.
The picture was taken at the quarry across from my home in Vermont.