Broken Camera Lens

The wind whistles over washed-out fields
I have spent countless days searching
Amidst tall dead grass
And dust-smothered railway shacks
For any trace of her
Alive, or otherwise

A raven watches
Perched atop a weathered fencepost
His gaze is cold and direct
Suddenly distracted by something on the stones of the tracks
Flashing in the noontide sun

The carrion eater takes flight
as I approach
A fragment of glass
Convex and iridescent
Inherently, I know it belonged to her 

This whole thing reeks of misplaced time
I am still no closer
This has gone on for years now

I don’t believe it will ever end 

(from the forthcoming poetry collection, Standing on the Threshold of Madness, to be published by Parallel Universe Publications.)