RHAPSODY
(Poem by Wendy Howe)
see also the french version



By tomorrow, our old world
will breathe memoirs
venting its passion
in the fountain pen splattering
of blue mist.

Tonight, it drifts away
on the scent
of a burnt-out candle,

after sweet words were spoken,
and kisses given
like last rites to a dream.

Now, the wax slowly hardens
relinquishing its warm flesh
to memory posed smooth
as a nude woman.

The rooms long shadows droop;
and we know --

Love will soon pass,
dissolve near dawn
into a flight of birds

washing the past off their wings,
pulling light across the river.