Poetry and Writes

The Lamplight, Lover? (POEM)

The lamplight, lover--please?

It's dark. The coals are too white,

too soft. The pages of my book

are in shadow, and the rain

hits hard the roof. I trace your

false frame. Oh-- the rain is

in     fractals     now.

The lamplight, lover--please?

I know you're there. I know

your delicate feet, so like the

winter quails' in their print,

will soon grace my doorstep.

It's nearly December, darling.

You    will    come.

I turn a tearful eye to the small

text of my book. It's just light

enough. An evening after an

evening, a page for a page--

a revived coal--stains on

the    black    glass.

It's snowing now. Where are you?

The lamplight, lover? Please?

No answers, just an idle room

in an idle house, while white

builds thick around it. I stand

and move to the door. I don't feel

my hand turn the knob but I'm

outside now. Flakes against a

deepening bowl--I round it with

my hands. I walk under the dappled

trees. Branches break. The lampposts

are dark. The lamplight, lover? Please?

Darling,     it's    cold.