Valse Triste
.
We dance.
I speak, you listen– you speak,
I reply– now we are up on the roof
of the house, waving our arms
at the stars– we can count on them
and the solid timbers.
.
I ran
and I returned.
You drove away,
came back.
We look out at the peach sky,
at the tall grass where foxes
come close, go away,
.
Safe distance, come in
slink away, to a rise
yipping at the stars
calling out to coyote brethren.
.
So late. 60’s– we
age and burn
and turn, laugh, cry
sip coffee
out in the dark a star falls,
a cinder
earth smolders on we
speak and savor
.
And out of words,
no yarns left to spin
until
tomorrow
same place, new time
.
To the dirt road
over the bridge, back,
to safety, home
not home
held fast
by the random comforts
of the night.
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I like everything about this poem, the way it moves back and forth and finally settles; the wonderful image of being on the rooftop and waving arms at the stars (love that!); the little plays on words (as in “so late. 60s….”); the internal rhyming; the connection to place.
I do, admit, however, that this brown does not seem right for your lyrical work.