Companion piece to ‘Not Often’
must I always this image see,
in the polished steel gloss of the pond,
at close of day, when the tired sun wanes
and can lay down little warmth or light,
cowing eyes to leave memory for sight.
playback of honey voices and lips
that could no longer ignite or excite two
who had exchanged love for habit,
there with the bulrush and water mint,
passion’s firey red now a pale pink tint.
A pebble thrown and you ripple away
into the reeds and fallen bank to lay.