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Warm Autumn Into Windy Night
It is late September again.
Under a warming sun, your hand holds my hand.
Now the horizon sits – a silent spectator.
When gently huffs the wind,
twilight cascades upon my skin.
We lay in misty vapor from
dusk’s bursting promise
as ink paints a panorama of primrose.
As luminous streams of stars
paint my poetic sky,
stirring my moon-swept soul,
soft fire is his eyes.
I glow through starlight,
embracing our marrow’s warmth.
Let the strongest of winds come -
our hand hold will never end.
Copyright ©
Andrea Dietrich
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