(from my new book, The Magic of Love, soon to be published)
The sky reflects the mood.
Blue yields to fifty shades of gray.
Great wet raindrops
splatter on my eastern window
like tears spilled for the lost and lonely.
They fall from a sky so low
that the dark angry clouds
scrape across the mountains behind my home,
so that I can almost reach up and touch them.
The mountains are lost in the mist
of the all-enveloping cloud.
Darkness follows dusk
like blinds being closed at the end of the day.
Her face appears mostly in shadow.
Only the line of her nose
and the curve of her brow
catch the light;
her eyes themselves are lost.
Night winds rise unimpeded.
They bring in a clearer brighter morning.
Flashes of sunlight
fall in dazzling patches of yellow
scarred by generations of cutting.
Sweat on my brow.
My heart palpitates
missing a beat.
I sense love lost.