Diana (scarletcreation) wrote in writingprojects, @ 2004-06-27 23:05:00

Pastoral Pining
Oklahoma is empty tonight,
though the shirring of pines
seems to fill the twilight
to a firefly's content.
He will flicker,
and soon go out on me.

I will be left here humid,
bare-legged and bare-feet,
wincing at mosquitoes.
My eyes will trace the lines
of a waving blue horizon,
as if each strand of wheat
were a lock of his hair.

A rusted barn rests on the hill,
years of its life given to
feeding and warming,
now just a silhouette I resurrect
with thoughts of him
lying in hay by a fire.
I want to run to him,
but at the end of the mile,
he will not be there.

The night remains empty,
between the moon and stars,
the ground and the sky,
the hills and the hole
inside of me
where he used to live.

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