In these closing days I’ve come to accept that I might never
get what I wanted from the start, although exactly how I feel remains unclear,
yet still tender, coals from a blaze I once embraced, the intensity of which
has long faded, even though I still feel consumed, something occasionally sparking
to life what all seemed dead, when we all knew from even in those earliest
days, a fire this hot could not endure, no fire no matter how hot every does,
Blues filling half the days this time of year when darkness lasts the longest,
and I feel the chill of winter deep in my bones, aware of the shreds of cloud
that covers my love life like a shroud, the land scape littered with hints of
you, embers that still provide me with just enough warmth – if never hope,
raising me out of the apocalypse of my own creation, restirring coals just enough
to feel a bit of warmth again, your face, your presence, your ever-lasting spirit,
haunting me, even though clearly remote, the slanted winter sun doing little to
illuminate my world, simply giving me glimpses of what used to be.
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