He yawns and sips his tea and feels
he has not slept. She leaves a slice
of toast, a shopping list, a kiss.
She waves, smiles and speeds away
in her new car. He closes his eyes,
needing to sleep, grass ankle deep.
Her scent so near, unwraps the quiet,
replays those days, chasing beyond
the knotted ground to stand as friends
upon a creaking bridge and play
with sticks, a childhood game: his drifts
towards a sandy bank, and comes to rest;
hers skips a rocky crop, and glides
to deep water, the slender wood
so sleek and dark as spiders spin
their webs beneath the fragrant pine.
He sips his tepid tea. The toast,
now hard and cold, he leaves. |
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