(Poem by Wendy Howe )

This hour when the day lags
and loneliness fills the wine glass,
when a breeze tugs the curtain
asking where is he
whom I deeply love,
this hour when shade leaves float
low on the wind, layered like the bustle
of a woman's dress and you wonder
where is the day heading, who escorts her
rain or sun,
I close my book and catch a sparrow
dispatching secrets between the pines.
His wings mark the air
with invisible commas, breaths taken
before evening falls and something foretells
the unknown.
I will not guess only drift backwards
to a time when we coiled in silk sheets
and sliced apples into crescent moons.
Each phase of night a succulent
peace of mind
offering a dream, togetherness
we could taste and fulfill.. I remember our hands,
how we polished each other,
how they rubbed cool, glistening pale
as the garden's fruit.

© 2011, Wendy Howe. E-mail.
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