She visits at 11:11
sometimes a.m. sometimes p
A sudden haunting urges me
to look at a clock which must be digital.
Dropping by for just a moment
only at 11:11.
The time is our own private secret
I look around and know she’s here
I’m talking in an empty room
aware that we two are together
so long as shine the four red ones
'til one red one turns to red two.
Comes midnight I will lay in stillness
knowing that I’m quite alone
no urge to look now at a clock
at twelve it makes no difference.
An excerpt from "Initial Verses - A collection of Poems on Love, Loss, Poverty and War".
Also available on Kindle