You are here 

The walls lose the sun, the last shard

Of light caught beneath the eaves

Beckons, fades, gleams again in the chill

Of December afternoon. Long-necked geese

High over the ridge tiles ride the wind

But one change from the other afternoons:

You’re here, you’re present, heard upon the stairs

The grace of your footfall and voice bathes me

On one dim, half-lost winter afternoon

How could summer compete lacking you? 

This is bright summer of the soul for me

When you are here. 

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