The Way Summer Turned


She starts slowly,

Her hands, circling gestures, hinting to far off places:


In the way that long gone memories suddenly reappear,

New and old,

As the eyes of a newborn might tell.


Her story moves,

Along the lines of his sweaty brow:

Furrows of dusty habits, streaked and stale.

And his face: a worn vista of hope,

A shell of the dances they once rehearsed.


She conjures over sagging eyes,

Rising to bright skies:

That one window they have left,

Where thirst and promise mingle

On that one day the afternoon light hangs,

Suddenly, still and unmoving.


Their separation: a restless wait,

But marked with patience,

As he turns, fetching verses from a box of years,

Stepping on the one plank, long gone warped and dry,

Creaking, and sounding the first note

Of a long song they will sing once again.

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