Evening

She turns into a quickening storm,
his song falling
along her neck
from a thousand miles away,
a low humming
like rocks under a creek bed
celebrating sun
(her day has not yet found his night).

No remorse
with the song unsung
but loved
and he tells her,
‘your heart is not wanting;
trust it.’

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One thought on “Evening

  1. Oh my, how I do love this poem. It feels as soft as a familiar song. “She turns into a quickening storm,
    his song falling along her neck” I’m thinking Dusty Springfield should sing this! Thank you so very much. 🙂

    Like

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