Inside My Bones I Carry Words Of You
Inside my bones I carry words of you.
by Sandra Fowler
Dusk is oblivious to everything but blue.
My hand is tracing what is left of light,
Dancing westward upon the rim of sight.
A few warm whispers now are left to shine
Of all the treasured letters that were mine.
The mood we shared is slipping out of place
To glitter like a minaret in space.
No matter that your winter went too far
For me to reach by caravans of stars.
Solace is printed on my windowpane,
In case your poem comes this way again.
Previously published, The World Poets Quarterly, China