Seasons come and go
yet still I wait:.
Easter with her purple flowers
summer on the run
autumn bathed in russet hue
the footsteps at the gate;

but you’re not there.

At least it’s true I know,
your face, the angle of a smile
your eyes in candlelight
just how you whisper in my ear
the curve of skin on bone,

know all of these.

Years fly past
armies flutter to their knees,
you prowl around the edge
of dreams, and I‘m always asking

where, and how you’ve been.

Seasons come and go, yet now
I have no hope, none at all:
of lying in your arms
talking underneath the stars
drinking wine from wedding cup

and I can’t imagine why
our worlds collided just for this:
an empty bed, a puzzled mind
a shadow on my heart
the footstep at the gate

is only mine.