Engraved in Oak

I’m taken from self, love. There you are smiling, touched

with glee, jumping waves. Forevermore, my love; and

every hymn, my love; and every key, my love. I’m found

with love, bouncing a seesaw, rubbing a tress. You pose

in pearls, dance in footlights, ever our love. It’s something

tribal, my heart, tooth and bone, a tent of feathers. Meet

us again, excite a soul, so close a wreckage. I ask, struck

with nostalgia, longing for a dying ethos. I remember a

shallow love, barely a whisper, morphing throughout a

summer. What would give, a flute of tears, a brief of books,

a pint of ink? It was ever our night, russet wine, and six

hours of conversation. I loved you come sunrise, captured

in time, scene to scene. What would give, a lute of fears, a

vox of pain, a troubled heart? Ours—so gentle and terrorized,

the screeches of a cry. What have we done, opting for velvet

dreams, and feral waterfalls? I ask, somewhat aloof, avoiding

answers; and there you stand, reaching for love.