Love Poem

It was yesterday

the dogwoods flowered

into rust-colored crosses.  Kudzu

warped trees on highway medians.

 

The wind shivered, split my hands.

 

You were painting.  Brown

and green mixed to nothing.  Geese

rattled and grazed the hillside.  Currants baking

in spring’s heat were silences between us.

 

Eggs and tempera powder stained your fingertips.

 

Now, I am dreaming of you

in watercolors:  a white smudge

of features becomes an oil lamp at night that,

burning quickly, exhausts itself in quiet.

 

Fractured light discovers the lines of your palm.

 

And I am here again, back

turned. The moon is an outline

of crusted edges and long streaks

that blacken toward the early hours.

 

My hands reach for the memory of your face.

 

 

© Christina Salme Ruiz