Sailing in the Misty Air

 

When drifting down these darkened banks

I see a million stars that draw

My wondering stare.

I find my thoughts

shine like the moon

on you,

your shadow walking

through the misty air.

 

I don’t know if you wait

or if you’re gone.

I only hope your smile

will greet me there.

But if you’re not,

I’ll grieve as life goes on,

and find my thoughts

turn into misty air.

 

I hear the gurgling crackle

of the waves.

The current’s hand

both pulls and pushes there.

The gentle wind does

stir the current so.

The fog starts waltzing

with the misty air.

 

I wonder if I’ll ever make it back

to kiss your lips,

and touch the raven hair

that tickles at my neck and chest

as care dissolves to love

upon the misty air.

 

And So What Shall We Say?

And so what shall we say

here at the end of day,

Here at the cold of fiery dusk

Before extending our feet

and hands

toward the hearty

crackling hearth?

The fire that blazes there

used to be

between

us

but has cooled

like the surface of

the moon,

and seems to have

fallen

down a crater

of its own making.

And so what shall we say?

‘Goodbye’ seems too trite.

‘Farewell’ is too polite.

And ‘so long’ has become

‘too long.’

Perhaps we shouldn’t say

anything.

And kiss.

© Alfred W. Smith Jr.  2015