Maid of the Morning Mist
errol miller
Before you came
the hours were very small
scented with lilac and elder
perfume from an unknown source
then you went out
with a grey fisherman
to gather rosebuds from the sea
the last line I ever wrote
eulogized your shrinking eyes
you wail receding far past
Des Moines on sleepless nights
you carried peppermints
in your purse
I carry your memory
into aromatic meadows
where antelope play
with our lost son, they
are blowing out the candles
along Atlantic's coastline
wooden shutters bang together
in the dark light of night
was it necessary to love
I asked as men
in trenchcoats escorted me
to a plateau overlooking sanity
to have lived alone
a normal life I think
would have made no sense
and damaged my dusty
metamorphic soul
so I chose to stay
close to you away at
a bentwood sad cafe
a deserted station
with arrivals and departures
and other lonely men
with muddy cuffs
dragging burned-out stars
through Shantytown.
