We Haven’t Been

back since we left.
Speaking of the wild
you are full of glass
with eyes that bleed
making bows from
willow saplings --
echoes of childhood

climbing snow banks
singing --
no one to know
no one to care
but I did.

I don’t want the morning to come
seeking shadows that flicker
in the dust of wind
eyelid’s alert --
a donkey’s duty

and finally
with evening’s
kiss on your cheek
you’ll have time to rest.

© Richard L. Provencher