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comein

someone made mention
of rings on the table
habits worn clean
to the bone
a rusted out latch
keeps no one from leaving
a whispered reminder
of reasons
to stay
where the fences
need mending
and water runs cool
sprung from a river
two miles ‘neath the porch
we watched the sun rise
another
one day
when spoke of intention
promise undone
by a change in the
weather
warm cotton gowns
I dared not replace
with the pretense of love
the essence of summer
left on the line
and a glass
of the best I knew how

. . .