Sunday, January 15, 2017
I stood here for quite some time
with my back to you,
I was an ancient sky
decorated with only the sunrise,
and the smoke curled from the chimney
rather like the curls on your neck.
I took my angel wings and rose
from the place of a wood stove,
a fire table, and a poet
in a cabin by the river.
The clouds reflected my appearance
and equivocal disappearance.
Once I knew you quite well
and I thought you would never leave me.
I only know now that if you fly away
I’ll fly away too:
the nocturne thrush twittered
on a branch just outside the clematis fence.
Beyond your prison you could see the sky
of my custodian.
You are in the custody of an angel.
She is bright, flashing and you
water-colored her world—
just so from aged.