read but untitled

wind rose and fell warm like breath
of a man and woman asleep.

canyons purpled in the day’s wane,
made animals of their wait.

wonder wounded summer’s memory,
oceans soothed and boiled
in the sun of starkest noon.

at the edge of old desire
he risked it all for her hand.

they said “time”
and “chance meeting”,
he told “perhaps”
within “starlight”
after writing
"everything scorches”
eventually.

neither ever listened
to the whole story
of shame and what
still shines after flood
and drought ensue,
pages and pages
unread in fear
of engulfing
conversations.


and the unceasing wind
clothed the sleepers
in flannel,
mopped fretfulness
the mother of endings
from their pensive
and creased brows.