August 19, 2010

And so

a soft chill

now concedes to

its normal routine

of easing my memories –

Down to the edge

of their borders;

sinking lower,

gradually, by degrees

as hopps, malt and dew

refresh once-parched lips

touching sweet ember

like a sunset 

not forgotten,

nor remembered.

It was really you

I was looking for.

Photo by Nancy Rosback.