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