08-10-2017, 12:00 PM
I don’t think of you much.
Just moments like this, when sunlight
spreads fingers from behind cloudbanks
to brush the grey wave-crests with gold,
I remember your touch.
Sometimes I glimpse your face
in a crowd of strangers. My heart leaps
and I force my way through,
pulse pounding.
It’s never you.
Bird chorus, from their nests
at dusk, remind me of your music.
Now I can’t sing, or laugh, or sometimes
even breathe. I don’t remember you often.
Just every day, it seems.
Just moments like this, when sunlight
spreads fingers from behind cloudbanks
to brush the grey wave-crests with gold,
I remember your touch.
Sometimes I glimpse your face
in a crowd of strangers. My heart leaps
and I force my way through,
pulse pounding.
It’s never you.
Bird chorus, from their nests
at dusk, remind me of your music.
Now I can’t sing, or laugh, or sometimes
even breathe. I don’t remember you often.
Just every day, it seems.