A New Year Begins

The sky's a melancholy sort of brown, or orange,
Somewhere between. It's barely brighter than
The fields. The snow from last week's almost
Gone. The house is empty. That's okay.
I sit. Why have I thought of you? A year has
Passed, without, within. The spring: I met
You on the square. The buds had just begun
To show, and you, like light and warmth
Returned, would speak so brightly, filling me
With hope, and, slowly, we grew closer,
Darting (as best as two creatures creaking
Through their later years) round and round,
Like courting birds. The summer came.
I brought you home. Our heat was greater
Than the sun's. We swam and writhed,
Held hands and stood out, lovers on a
Sea, becalmed, of farmers and their
Stolid wives, but, soon enough, the
Fall arrived, a chill. We shrank and grew
Apart, and, in the winter, in the darkness,
One day, I came home to find a note
Which told me you had gone, and, since
Then, though a year has passed, the winter's
Cold has stayed with me. I wonder what's
Become of you, but, in this melancholic
Light, another's warmth is on my mind.
A spring is coming. When it does,
Your year will fall behind.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 45 times
Written on 2014-01-14 at 00:29

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