Moving On

My grief is like a storm
which rumbles to an end.
The wind dies down
the current slackens on the shoals
white clouds stretch across the sky
like huge confections.

I still recall
the splendor of her smile
the solace of her touch
but I really should be
moving on.

I used to be an old man
crying in the shower.
I’m growing younger now.
My new love waits for me
across the sound in Callao
her hair cascading down
like ribbons of ripe wheat.
With any luck
I’ll find safe harbor in her arms

 
before the night descends.

 

(orginially published in Verse-Virtual)

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