Where Certainty Endures



Of this I’m certain

Each day I find

My sight failing

The image of your face

Simply dissolving 

Each day I find

My hearing fading

The sound of your voice

Falling silent

Each day I find

My touch is dying

Your peach soft skin


Each day I smell

Less of your fragrance

The geranium

Losing its musk

Each day I savor

Less of your seasoning

Your sweet wine

Going stale

Each day I find

Myself drifting farther

Your mooring line


Of this I’m certain

Each day I find

Less joy in living

The loneliness of being

Is simply exhausting

Of this I’m certain

Where certainty endures

This dry dusty river bed

will again flow A cataract

spilt onto parched earth


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
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8 Responses to Where Certainty Endures

  1. we seem to have found ourselves in similar moods today


  2. willow1945 says:

    Beautiful and poignant.


  3. SalvaVenia says:

    Missing the love of your life.


  4. kiwiskan says:

    lovely image and words


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