the rippling void

by mistersoto

twilight steps he took
away turning
feeling the flick of the pages
the tip of the index
strumming over deep in the pocket
the notebook
again and again
the brush of the pages
again and again
he contemplated scraping
the paint off
from his portrait
again and again
but he stole out
walking away
catching instead
at the top of the hill
the weakening remnants
of love
and the rippling void