"You have seen the swirls
curving round between our secret
in through me, out of you"
~ Duchess, The weather, on Sunday
You were promise, curving
like the round of my belly
as light through crystal,
yellow to green to blue.
You were my secret, spilling
like sand from the bend of my elbow
into the way my hair tickled your face
as I lifted you.
Or was it you that lifted me?
You were hope,
now more than ever beyond grasp,
with a smile too wise to acknowledge death
and recognition in your eyes.
Yes, you were promise
like dew in the boughs of the willow
curving always away.