Saturday, July 18, 2009

Alamance

the night
drops its curtain softly
and folds quiet dark
around the house
the fresh moonlit breeze
drained of the day's humidity
wafts a breath of honeysuckle
through open windows
and fireflies
wink around us
clustering
in the dusky corners of the garden
Watch him watch
his father's
familiar stooping gait
Under the wet magnolias
the white oaks
dripping evening rain
Along the brick paths
of memories old
and fading out of sight
around the next corner
He wonders at this ceaseless longing
The thrill of possibilities in those silent hotel rooms
New eyes behind every door
He can almost feel the road beneath his feet
The staccato white lines of the highway flashing by
As he bends to brush her hair gently from her face
“Sleep” he whispers softly
Unwritten songs humming in his head as he tells her
He’ll be there when she wakes
But his heart tenses at the lie
He will be miles gone when she opens her eyes to the dawn
The wanderlust tied to his every nerve compels him
Chances and regrets rise before him like the moon
And he is gone again in the night