Dust motes drifting in sunlight
A soft veil of quietude.
I lift your photograph off the shelf
With a nervous hand.
I should have smoothed back
That wild tangle of auburn
Before I flicked the shutter.
I look deep into the solitudes
Of your startled eyes
Black in their small alcoves of shadow;
Then kiss the shadow of your lips.
Like a child in torment,
Lost on the dark side of the moon.
Will I hear your footsteps on the garden footpath
Before the leaves have fallen?
Trevor John Karsavin Potter. (For J P).
October 1st. 2012.
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