when passions
are rendered
and the last starling sailed –
when all I recall
of the summer
we loved –
is the flush of your skin
melded with mine
a view of the sky
through your eyes

as gifted this poet
moments so clear –
words without hope
to describe
the way your smile lingered
as coffee was poured
night making sense
of the day

when time
is negated
for sake of my heart
the curve of the moon
as he sleeps
when all i have left
of your voice
in the dark –
is passed as a wing
through the trees

. . .