candle

shadow play on the ceiling
reminds me of the sound
of your intoxicating voice.
there’s not a soul around

to watch you blue and golden
when you gaze into my eyes
and each tear drop warm burning
through my fingertips and lies

that i heard you whisper
through thunderstorm that night,
and here i wait listening
and hoping that i might

await you, moonless, in
the silence-swallowed dark.
your footsteps in the autumn
with every little spark

in the woods, long forgotten-
easy wind and downy flake
and harness bells now silent
between woods and golden lake

and in unforgiving darkness
i met my phantom green,
then never again, in daylight
were our heartbeats seen.

T. E. Pyrus

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