I think of the spring
When the overhang lay straining with fruit
And the smell of first rain placid in the air
‘It makes me feel I’m being born” she said,
And I smiled at the awakening in me.
And we walked, two children holding hands
Down the road where sweat, wood-smoke and the night
Mingled with the night-flower abloom
In the cottage with the wooden fence.
I inhaled and lit another cigarette
“you smoke too much” (“Yes! But what the hell”).
How strange it is, this thing called love
So different from fantasies and what poets write about,
I kissed her and liked the taste of sweat across her mouth
And touched the flame in her lips and hair
Storm-scented and vibrant;
As the night
And in that moment it was the night-flower,
And being born and finding our beginning
And the warm fragrant silence of the night.
Then you walk away.
While I wait in the night with your presence.
And one fine strand of your hair
Left on my shoulder when you are gone.
Tomorrow I’ll be gone to a place called loneliness
And write long letters for the solace of the words
Till time soothes and awakens
And I search a new beginning.