she’s leaving in the dark
but she knows that it’s morning
those earliest quicksilver hours move with
the first chatter of birdsong
the whisper of lawn sprinklers
the soft rumble of bakery trucks.
she peels herself from the length
of his body,
the indentation where she fits
carved in his side
the nite before
last Sunday
a month ago
the day he was born
a life previous.
on the roadway
lit now by the wash
of a dull, pewtered sun
amber-orange street lights fizzle
wink out like paper lanterns
and the black-blue bird
eyes her from the powerline.
she regards her watcher
with a knowing smile
for he is messenger and muse
promising dreams
the return of Spring
the length of a lover
and the indentation
to be reborn from
every morning
a blood-red sunrise
in a milk-white sky
~ Andrea E. Janda