This Haunting

These arms of fire held love, and more of you,

They gathered suns of days against the rain

In ways that blessed the rose; the dawn of pain

Was yet to reach the shore where winters bruise

The gulls and pulse of summers passed through.

How drenched and vast the heart becomes, how vain,

In search of words for longing long since slain

But for buds of spring that glisten with dew.

I walk this path and you appear again,

A ghost of woe that turns the flowers black,

And causes birds to make a plaintive plea;

I feel your touch upon my broken back,

And know this haunting brings a painted end:

With crescent moon, and wailing wind for me.