If by this time next year we are strangers,
the tide having carried you away while I stood by scowling,
feet sinking in the sand,
cursing the moon for betraying me,
muttering to myself that I wanted you to go

I will immediately hope to
forget
all those days when

Under bright daylight

                    in the just right mood

                              surprise tinges of gold line your eyes

                                               soften your smile

                                                          ­     and shine your diamond soul

                                                               ­                          through the room

The cusp of seasons waxes a melancholy mind
each turn a little less sure how the sun hangs
in the sky over the homeward drive
low for a while then high
confusing time
Shows even at five and ten and twenty nine
when the world felt twice than alive
everything was always dying
Each pass the summer skies go undermined to autumn
then fall to ice beat back with new grass
wither in sun's fire
While inside the dishes and the laundry pile
hearts ply and lose desire
blind by days
to the ties of light and outline
perpetual arresting revise

I bought a few sprigs of lavender tied with yarn from a boy outside the bookstore during the brightest days of summer.

The small decoration lay on a stack of books by the bed, scent fading with the passing days, inches from my pillow.

Meanwhile I ran about dusting and polishing, fluffing and waxing, making everything nice.

At night I fell into sleep moments after lifting my feet from the floor, forgetting all I dreamed.

The sun comes up too early
dissolving the night from behind
suspending last night's sleepless
in a passing timeless bind

Two worlds outside the window
The new day and the past
Toss the covers and brew the coffee?
or plead with the stars to hold fast.

The dawn shines soft at first watch
casting the world a pale blue
By midday it glares down on burdens
pointing cruelly at an endless queue

But noonday passed behind curtains
holds bothers in dark sympathy
lets correspondence die in assumption
ignores bills to delinquency

Either way the moon hangs devoted
bides his time in faded plain sight
to whisper the patience of nightfall
hold the world in it's pitiful light.