Shock
distant sirens wail
slowly I realize that
you’re not coming home
–
a warm shower
startled awake
by the telephone
distant sirens wail
slowly I realize that
you’re not coming home
–
a warm shower
startled awake
by the telephone
your licorice lips
the taste of clove and anise
lingers on my tongue
–
quiet sunrise
a rose bud
slowly opens
freshly cut flowers
in a wreath of fallen leaves
laid upon your grave
–
curled sepia photos
seeds taking root in
freshly turned earth
wrapped in a blanket
of condolence and comfort
still mired in grief
–
shooting stars
crossing skyward
on golden wings
with needle sharp teeth
and razor edged claws they tear
my curtains to shreds
–
silence-
the thunder
of tiny feet
barely enough room
in my zippered sleeping bag
for the two of us
–
white footprints
your hand
tightly in mine
aloft and adrift
floating ever so gently
just out of my grasp
–
innocence
tethered
by a string
wishing you all peace
in the hope and promise of
the coming new year
–
auburn leaves
a chestnut takes root
in the dampened earth
watching you watch me
through heavily lidded eyes
as sleep becomes you
–
brindle underbrush
a chipmunk rests
beneath the leaves
nubile and supple
and every move reminds me
of my need for you
–
warm afternoon sun
sodden and hungry
awaiting the spawn