Winding Down

In the winding down of day, At the world’s turning grind, The rotation freezes still And in my silence Failing vision blurs the lens. From where I stand alone, A vantage point of years, The age scrapes the bones, And blood runs less fluid As though molasses made. To wake in her arms Head again upon her breast, To damn the lumpen grave, The rasp in my throat, Exhales a sometimes prayer. Yet nothing can now change, For stone clad is the day And welded is the night Is this one-sided wedding Spent carelessly in grief.