xxi ( another )

You wake me at dawn or at least
the memory of you. Or was it

a flight of swallows, startled
that woke me?

I rub two sticks together to
conjure you around a ring

of stones to tell our story
to the last of the morning

stars that lean against the trees,
bending the branches, to hear,

while the fading moon
floats on the river.

I hear them whispering
and it makes me colder.

So I find a spark
in the beak of a raven

take a flame from that day
we laughed so hard while making

         love  –
            and build a small fire

                that I set on the water
I watch it float down river,

       setting the morning on fire.

There is no more whispering.


One Comment

  1. I really like this one, you are such a romantic. Romance and chivalry have seemed to die in most men, I’m glad to see you are keeping it alive

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