Of this I know:

Your tellfire came to me from

            before, when there was

            no now – only being – with

You as an admonition of light

            softly failing,

            claiming the balance

Of your eyes in front of me,

            in wonder of every corner

            of your face, an ever-patient

Mirror of my own making,

            where you and I are quiet

            against the blueblack of dusk

Prefaced by nothing but calm

            in a hibernation of night, fast approaching

© K. James Ribble