Inclement Whether


now the memories

Snatches of bright, clear light and holiday colors

lost in the fog

The promises sound evil and hollow, the songs like moans of pain

Open mouthed laughter is replaced by tremulous smiles

Hands, once pressed hard together, and locked with interlaced fingers,


as the rope uncoils,

and our ships sail out across the

stormy waters

of a last and longing look at fading love,

at the flickering mirage

of you and me,


by the blizzard of


that arrived so suddenly.

Whether or not we’d weather it was the question.

And in the calming wake of


lies the answer,

in the depths and

unsalvageable wreckage

of our

separate selves.

© Alfred W. Smith Jr.

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