And so, my love,
you are off to work.
I counted the seconds
with you,
until you left me-
alone,
disturbed
by a comment.
And the disconcerted feelings
went flying,
wound their energy
through our rooms-
on this
sultry day
of roaring thunder
and shooting rain.
The scent was fresh,
yet you were
somewhere else.

In the earlier morning,
as you lay
fragile - looking small-
clutching a large pillow,
I bolted into my routine-
coffee served-
conversation routinely nice.
I felt a healing strength
running through me.
I felt you
sleeping far away.

How seriously you
interrpret
things.
It is not black and white-
It is up and down
and sideways,
the paths and emotions
in this life.
Cast your fears
of impending doom
and analizing aside.
Let them rest.
Bury them
or we will not survive.

It is humid enough.
Sweat sticks to my brow.
It s moving day-
new neighbours.
I cannot spend my hours alone
with this heaviness
of where your hours alone
will take you.

There is no need to analyze love.
If that be the case,
then
I will conclude
that love will not survive.
And so my love,
I sit
and
cherish
this evening
of an almost full moon
with a quivering heart.

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Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

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