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The Bequeathing
Back to back we stand staring into the future.
The moon loves us for it is dead-eyed and alone.
Long or brief all days dwindle, while nights row us back
over that vast seas we arrived from.
Faces blur, after-mages blanch,
we both recall the same lovers -
for are we not all ‘I’?
‘You’ and ‘your’ a mere pretense of duality.
Lovers filled our own footprints,
yours came to you weeping, mine left sobbing,
our tears are formed in the same deep wells
of hope and regret.
You are seeking an horizon perhaps;
for a while you see a shadow-man
slipping underneath a sunset.
Don't follow, don't go that way,
tomorrow, if it dawns for you,
will be the gift only you can give
to I.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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