I grip the banister,
touch
each sleepless stair―
the
door's salutation
sounds
sadder in the dark.
Night
swallows me,
one
naked shoulder at a time.
I
hear your voice in the crickets―
fireflies
remind me of the distance,
how
each nocturnal window twinkles
from
counties to countries.
How
stars scatter
differently
across your sky.
tk/July 2013
 |
| Man and The Moon, 1990 by Andrew Wyeth |
