you were always going away
from that wintering beginning,
forest lost in the dark months -
a frigid glimmer
of willo'thewisp light glimpsed
faintly through trees.
unhaltingly i followed
your twisting dance deeper.
no string tethered me to return -
there was nothing left behind save the path,
and your dusklit figure lay ahead.
you were my cross,
nailed into darkened noon,
wrists blunt bolt fixed
as fall king tides rise,
an inkblue openmouthed inrush
of plummeting oceanmute howl.
from the ocean you first invoked me -
your ache, a plaintive lullaby,
draped whispered silks
over nightmare's jagged granite crags.
there was such calm in the eye
we took always with us.
outside banshees writhed, shrieked,
incanted wild demands.
and outside your pane, mirrored,
rain slid close,
comfortably familiar fingers
over the welcoming face of sunset forever.
a lone songbird began the twilight symphony.
your sunbudded opening into day
and inevitable unpetalling
was woven of soft lavender gossamer -
seeds borne upon the westward breeze.
the nine mooned working waned,
pale and wan,
took a back seat to clutching
need's eager fingers,
its unnumbered digits.
the impotent distance
is stuffed with suffering
like a ripped christmas stocking -
in separate cells we weep
for things forgotten lost.