Age

crimson fingernails
lightly drawn along my skin
leaving ghostly trails
–
rain streaked windows-
we agree
on safe words

an early March snow-
past time for pulling up roots
and moving along
–
stinging rain-
I return to find
an empty home

tiny wisps of light
at the edge of the forest
dancing in the dark
–
the nighttime sea-
distant sirens
in the dark

twisting in my sleep
I smell the blood and cordite
and lotus flowers
–
torrential rain-
countless lost
to take a hill

brutal onshore winds-
a nor’easter whips the sea
as waves pound the beach
–
my collar up-
a man chases
his hat

slowly settled in
every movement painful with
these old weary bones
–
well worn stones-
shore water’s
ebb and flow

an old foundation
reclaimed by a forest of
thickly tangled vines
–
blowing snow-
winds sing in
the chimney

the creak of hinges-
curtains drawn against the light
rising in the east
–
fading daylight-
the rustle of
leathery wings

so many evenings
spent in stony solitude
with yet without you
–
rain etched stones-
the once neat path
overgrown

my old tired soul
steeped in warm flowing water
washing me away
–
frozen windows-
winter winds blow
through my soul