Wind
leaning back eyes closed
listening to the whitecaps
as they roll on shore
–
salt spray-
roaring wind
in my ears
leaning back eyes closed
listening to the whitecaps
as they roll on shore
–
salt spray-
roaring wind
in my ears
fingers intertwined
your slippered feet atop mine
before the fire
–
two dozen years-
still waking up
next to you
blue moonlight drips through
holes in the tattered shingles
onto the barn floor
–
peeling red paint-
the barn door
hangs askew
rivers of sunlight-
the waking ocean meets the sky
and the coming dawn
–
sunrise-
morning glory
blossoms
a cobblestone path-
the back garden gate flanked by
rose bushes in bloom
–
spring breeze-
the cloying scent
of honeysuckle
nestled in the snow
a single long stemmed red rose
rests on your headstone
–
cold rain-
in the gutter
a bouquet of roses
barnacles gather
just below the waterline
where the piers once stood
–
rotting pilings-
waves, the echoes
of children’s laughter
eyes looking inward
staring into the darkness
barely held at bay
–
cleansing breaths-
the forest
whispers
coruscating snow
slithers across the highway
hastened by the wind
–
morning sun-
cherry blossoms
in the snow
lives in transition
our time of death uncertain
until the next one
–
morning glory-
time enough
to live again