Night spun
its chill as
our fingertips
touched that knotted
wood which stemmed
our inner
emotions.

Words linked
by white breath
lingered upon a
curlew’s cry
that smothered
any further
discussion.

On a shore of
strange birds,
you dreamt of a place
that left images
like wisps
of vague
impressions.

That memory
now sepia
I can still
touch and feel
those lost
long ago
moments.