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.