Like chess moves
Like the flow of
A Salem river the
Air seeks majesty here

Surrounds us like the
Willow bends its branch
To touch the flowing gold
In silhouette and shadow

While the sun careens
Its light before the end
Of day, prodigal and bereft
I feel this candid breeze

Begin to speak of sorrow
As if I am floating foreign
Benign to even the sounds
Of its memory, Memory that

Ever greets its last hurrah
Bitten on the tongue of
Gentle weeping, quieting to
None in the silence of spring

 
© K. James Ribble