April 30, 2007

Foggy Night Before a Sixtieth Birthday

Nights are the hardest to survive alone.
Out in the moonlight she dances, beyond the fog,
Smiling with another man ripe in her memory's garden.
The wind rattles my window, a draft blows out my candle.
As the small hours wither into daylight she will haunt me;
Laughter and faded kisses in dusty gazebos at dusk,
Gin and candied apples on creaky piers before a storm.
In my cold bed my sober mind growls, my old limbs
Ache. I am too full of hate to forget those I loved.

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