In the dark time, the deep time
in a chair by the closed window
through the cracks and flaws
the rain steals towards bare feet
drowning them
submerged, up to her waist, her neck
she can’t move
a shuddering spark
brushes her left eye, lashes
extending from a possibility
in a fog that disappears
joining the dots, the chords
the sinews
of their hearts
And tomorrow
when they return
she will cast aside her mourning clothes
draping her hair with mist
his hand in hers
they head for the ridge
dew and white lilies
the flowers of twilight
Between his searching eyes
and her tears
they carry a suitcase
packed always
and in the distance
so many journeys
so many poems
two souls
with only the lowering sky
between them
Mourning Clothes
©crisstiena
Adding your comment:
