Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Whistle Stop

Subdued amidst the sundry bric-a-brac
a dustless frame displays a fading smile
that once bespoke of willows by the track
and sighing tendrils hiding us a while.
As hyacinth and jasmine breezes blew
we’d tarry in the early summer sun,
frenetic lovers rolling in the dew
quite certain that our time had just begun;
until that night, seduced by perfect lines
you chased the midnight musk of distant stars,
I wept beneath the boughs as our designs
were hauled away on lurching vacant cars.

I hear the horse’s herald echo shrill,
your picture shudders from my nightly chill.

1 comment:

Word Catalyst Magazine said...

Hey Bob,
You make the beautiful sound sad and the sadness sound beautiful at the same time. Your words imply a loss that could only come from something beautiful that few have ever gained.

Take Care,