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Sunday, December 07, 2008

Last of the Silver

a one last-time touch
is really so slow,
my fingers, one or two,
a circle encircles
that small freckled sign
on your skin,
just on the forearm,

a burn-turning touch
starts a glow now,
shows the silver in you,
a circle encircles
the director of our time
ticking within,
ringing a final alarm,

skins now lightly touch
fires burning low,
taking for granted two,
a circle encircles
a day turning to rhyme
with its evening,
worlds turn on your arm,

seasons drift to touch
each other in woe,
sun tells earth to go,
a circle encircles
another year in time
to history's sin,
love is part of the harm,

a one last-time touch
lets us know
how hard it is to go,
a circle encircles
a final moment's sign
silently burning,
just dying on a forearm.

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