One Earring Left
I came home without the other last night.
Gone, fallen off after twenty years of wear,
bought when being free was new,
after a lunch with wine,
a silver crane, with wings spread.
The moon framed herself in the center pane
of my bedroom window.
She may have known where my crane was,
but was content to stare dumbly at me
as I lay alone with his fingerprints still on me.
By morning light, everything has flown.
I shower and hang the earring
with the other mateless ones.
No comments:
Post a Comment