What Shines in Fog

the park shone in prisms of dew
as red bougainvillea crawled
drunk and rampant across brick
walls of pure forebearance,

soft footfalls glistened in lost
moments of his first absence,
saturated the taste of air
like fog afloat on afternoons
late in June.

minor chords played in the theater
of her sad observing mind
while their days of wonder
echoed between twin canyons
in the bluest mist of wandering
forgotten time.

not for this did she take him home
that windswept October eve…
no, not for this she thought
and yet

the day said ‘come’ and like a traitor
or a fool for heroes she walked and went,
sat still in the red chair of reverie
and remorse, brown eyes bent towards
the wild raving ocean and coal black
thriving horse

whose sudden thunder ached and birthed
their souls’ true-taken deepest course.