what’s done

you speak
of the ardor of us
as if it still breathed
pulsed between us
lighthouse guide
of our nights
our flighty days
but it’s yesterday’s sighs
then that quivers
to the thready
beats of time passing
when my fingers
lent yours
delightful animation
you speak
of the soul of us
as if we were still
inseparable
as if time and distance
had not piled
against us
diluting us from then,
from when,
from now

© Sarah Whiteley

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quandary

so what are we to do
we two?
you over there
me right here
you with the woodpecker
perched in your birch
and I with the crows
flying in fractured arrows
home

so what do we say
anyway?
you were then
I am now
you with the trees
ringed round the yard
and I with the streets
cracked and scarred
alone

and so who am I
this time?
I who was yours
once and then
you who were mine
again and when
our time was not mine
is no longer
yours

© Sarah Whiteley

consolation

days like these the frustrations overwhelm, bitter as over-brewed tea
a tiring test of wills to bide my time, bite my tongue
I begin to doubt such things as right moments
exist for goodbyes, for final severances

there is no singular juncture, no time I can point to
and say this hour that minute is where our road ended
rather, a bruised accumulation of unfulfillments and disappointments,
an agonizingly slow dying of this skin I am ready to shed

my consolation lies in the moments to come
that are not defined by you

© Sarah Whiteley