I watch The Shadow

I write my name in dust upon your cheek.
The very air heartbroken of its grief
Hangs still mute-struck before the fallen sun.
My coffee paints an abstract on the grass.

I watch the shadow take your face by half,
Feel touch become less tangible than space.
I will not wake you up to warm the dark,
To wonder why the light must die so hard.

Even folk songs, my friend, fall short of you.
The memory of that gray life that you lived
Is captured in the creases of your face,
The mood of one lone leaf that crossed the fence.

To know the mighty horsepower of that frame
Is less contemporary than tomorrow's sun,
Has stilled the moving bird wing of my hand
Into a gesture far more frail than flight.

Previously published, 'Poesie Europe'

 

Copyright, Sandra Fowler.
All Rights Reserved by Author.