The life of the light, a tremendous sight
wrought from tempting tremulous night
The lines of love, written in the tense of perhaps
leave before ending, lingering where tension snaps
The asking of an afternoon
too much longing, speaking silence much too soon
An illusion of the seclusion of desperate rains
tugging at the heart until the drops beat again
Confused I remain, wanting to stay without leaving
Still if afternoons aren’t meant for the aforementioned
why can’t I release such broken yet calming reflections?
Will I write a self-made respite should I bravely question?
This life made of light
transforming in reply to my sigh too soon
The asking of an afternoon…
Carrie Gilbert 2015