moon-and-cloud
shadows
play on the silk bed sheets—
scent of violets
creamy beeswax drips
from honeyed candlelight
the polished gleam
of the old maple armoire
flickering
a sepia print falls
from the brittle letters
of young lovers
sunrise, the blush returns
to the untouched peach
not quite alone—
a mourning dove's feather
drifts through the window
March, 2004
