Beneath a Thinning Sun

When realationships fail.

Stony breath has faded into dust and yet,

somehow, the sun still shines through,

though barely. Early morning blue jays 

quarrel noisily. Uncanny how much 

they remind me of you.

The good times, long obscured by the 

shattering of last year’s looking glass,

are forever distorted … luck be damned.

I’ve lost more than just your reflection, 

amid these scattered and fragmented truths.

Copper-faced and silver-lined,

our smiles never rose above hardened ground. 

By then the land was barren and our skins granite,

repelling repeated onslaughts of angry words into 

the tricklings of sifting sands, until one day 

… our time ran out.

On these sombre mornings in October, shivering

on the stoop, collecting my mail, I am battered by

the gusts of even colder days to come. 

Your memory, a solitary leafless tree, stands

resolute and naked, beneath a thinning sun.