“There is no greater mystery to me than light
traveling through darkness.” ~~Alexander Volkov
Daisies and spider mums in a milk bottle on the windowsill.
The leaves of the giant oak tap, tapping a melody of longing.
Moonlight decants through a partially opened window
at the headstead. The white painted wooden pane reveals a ghostly pallor
as a cloud passes overhead; tiny chips offer a glimpse of a former life—
a coat of oil-based seagreen reflects in the corner of the glass.
The sheets and pillow cases convey evidence of recent lovers:
her open book near the vase, left in haste, the pages fluttering
in the thief breeze entering with longing to enliven.
Crooning a lullaby to each other in the shower, they’ll return soon
to bed coverings refreshed by zephyrs, embossed by romance
past, profound, yet soon to come again.