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.

Tom