On Waratah Nights
I sit in the dark, as far off
the scent of Waratah wafts
reminding me of you,
my mouth curves
a memory, as my face tilts
the moon, her red veils
run up my chest
faraway down the road
we may meet again
across a canyon of time,
our eyes will connect
I often wonder what yours
will dare tell me,
at the first dawning
will a ray of remembrance
burst through your iris
or will our words of anger
sour every glance,
turning those blue eyes
opaque
I live in wonder,
I breathe forgiveness
and only god knows
who you are anymore
but the waratah, ever blooms
of you and sickle moons
in my smiles
so hope lives
on the whispered sense of night,
and maybe only in my heart
|