May 2, 2011


Posted by Daddy on at 11:53 pm

Troy Eckhardt

I whisper his name
but it’s not a prayer.
It’s and ache and a hope.

I study his image
but it’s not worship.
It’s a longing and a joy.

I stoop to touch one
once beside me
and feel,
yawning where he stood,
as bottomless as time.

Holes are meant to be filled.

But not now, not yet.

I honor his absence.
I cherish the vacuum.
It’s a grief and a comfort.


Nothing but him will fit in it.

Category: Poetry Link: Hole
  • I’m so very sorry for your sorrow. What a beautiful poem about your sweet boy. He’s touched me today and I’m so glad I found your site. Thank you for sharing your story. God bless you and your family.