Outside, evening’s breeze whispers. The wind chime, in our tulip tree, rings from time to time, soothingly. Inside, we sit with dinner, and quiet. There’s little resonance, but we care for one another. Our love goes without saying.
Meal finished, we clear the table together, conversing little. No need I think, we know each other, we know without saying. Task done, we part quietly, me to my keyboard, you to read.
Outside, tubular bells sound softly in February sunset. Inside, as I type, my thought drifts to last September’s trouble, the time I hurt you, deeply. “But you’ve forgiven me,” thinking to myself, “yes?”
“Certainly you have,” still thinking to myself. “This year’s a different thing, I’ll not think of you right now, I need to finish this poem.” Outside, the wind freshens, greeting day’s end. Chimes pleasantly keep pace. Inside, turbulent uncertainty stirs.
rob kistner © 2023
Poetry at: dVerse