Just alight, rippling
Tomorrow, I will let it seep. The coffee and
cinnamon. Our run for the bus across the forest
city, gold shoes, tan shoes skipping long shadows
to reach hands beneath the vaults of St John, beloved.
Burnt daisies tied red under a sky so rich to draw us higher—
the swelling river, the yellow maple just alight, rippling.
The look you have, new after ten years. Toasting stout
on cobbles, giving thanks at the fire. The stars all ears.
The 5am train calling daybreak on this new season.
Laura Hemmington is a writer and freelance copywriter who lives on the Isle of Wight with her husband and their cat. Her poems have appeared in Crab Creek Review, No Contact, Lucent Dreaming, Identity Theory, and The Madrigal. She's currently working on her first book. This poem is for Dan.
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