KLondike 2-3113

swords of light
puncture the oak shading our table
clash with the birdfeeder dangling below
the wings of small birds winking in and out
their chattering voices mixing with ours

and your laughter

that was last summer
now the light has changed

it’s a leafless oak
barren of shade
feeder fallen and
table overturned

mist thickens until it drips
off the tips of bare branches

I like to think the oak is crying
like I’ve learned that lives wash away
in afternoon showers

later when sky clears
it’s moon stabs the oak

on impulse I reach up
press my fingers against
the numbers of the night
dial the stars round the sky
until I hear heaven ring and
your voice pick up once again
and sing without fail
instead of hello