“Where are you now, beloved?” ~ Jean Morris
It rained hard again tonight.
And when we returned home, found
tiny signatures of insects affixed
to the door jamb. Walking through
waterlogged patches of yard
to take out the trash, what else
do I trample in my coming
and going? On the river’s
surface, long-legged birds cry
and rake fields of invisible stars.
The flower falls before the fruit,
and the body at its base swells
inside its sleeve a little more
each day. After I stir the tea
in the cup, your name returns to me
again, its letters dream-like, shifting.
In response to Via Negativa: Soulmate.