“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Saturday, November 25, 2017
In our places
In winter it is warmest
in the pale sun
and under your light,
even behind the dark glasses
your eyes smile bright
while we talk softly,
without effort
the breeziness knows
understanding the sky
without words
needing to hold us up
against our own presence.
Placed here, like so,
sharing tastes and sounds,
noting the harmony
we share by proximity
and savoring alike. I know
you know, it takes two
to not let go
with one glance,
promise me
one day-
seasons will allow
a change-
when we lift our eyes
holding out hope
over all others
like this
there was no need to explain
how a line catches
all it can tether
together in one sky.
Painting by Johan Christian Dahl, 'Winter at the Sognefjord, February 1827 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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