what was left
of the creek
has turned into dust
(was here
i once held up the night)
was right here
beside you
covered with dew
assessing the stars
(wishes in flight)
was heaven this close
(i scarce can recall)
how sweet was your love
on my skin –
venus made nest
in a handful of curls
words seeking silence
again
(and again)
tell me once more
how swiftly the waves
to carry us far
from this place where we lay
how cool were
the oceans –
(created from dust)
to hold what was left
(to the story)
of us
. . .
tornadoday 