My heartbeat quickens
I see your gloves shaking
I hear the hiss of an automated prophet
A beacon’s steady recitations
Spouting dark herald to the fodder
Slowly drinking the cheer from our morning air
My own breath, an empty plea
A forfeit to the turbid wind
Clouds above collect like marchers to a riot
An arm without beginning
Stirs the suspension to a storm
In its breach, a cerulean jewel
A clear, central gaze
Piercing and as shrewd as your own
Its legs – ephemeral pyres, blanched in flame
Fracturing the sky
Snaking through the fog and rain
Finding their cradle in the nearby mountains
They turn the forest to rouge
Its woodland blush reddens my skin
Its fever blackens earth and air Its
lust smelting leaf and bone
The dark fog prods and tickles my eyes
I can’t see much, but I see what I need to
I see the charred slivers of pine drifting above I see the framing of our house
And its whitewashed fence Making amends with the ashen soil
I see our vows drafted to the gale
Memories preferring the open air
My countenance too, gone in the fray
Yet I see you turn toward the tempest
Your finger placed inquisitively on your cheek
A novel impulse forming along the crease of your brow I see the corner of your lips start to curl upwards