The Lovers

A restless wind turns over leaves
and enters, searching through the house
when we unlatch the windows.


Cobblestones emerge from under
veils of water and moss to turn
their eyes toward the sun.


What star is crossing rapidly toward another
in the heavens now? So glad for them, I turn
my face toward the light of their passing.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← Goodbye, IreneCurrents →

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