A poem by Richard King Perkins II
It’s not a dream
but a slightly bygone world
covered in frozen mist.
Sparrows alight on the small shoreline
of an astounding perimeter—
a sanctum whispering in white.
I study the icebound bracken and reeds,
gazing past the embankment
to this vacancy of snow where your car once slept.
In the old meeting place, I still look for you—
where our conversations spilled upon gentle light;
simple confessions of twigs and soul.
But we’re left with only a few desperate sentences;
having spoken of things to deny or embrace,
the evergreen ghosts of our endless north country.
Now you’re stranded on a bridge in St. Louis
with no money and no credit cards
and your passenger side window broken out.
I’m in the bristling pines laced ivory
where someone once wrote a song about you;
how your eyes extinguished sensibility,
how your eyes painted light into every corner of darkness.
Can you recall how desperately we believed
that the return of robins and sharp shadows
could change everything;
that crocuses would ignite life in themselves?
Richard King Perkins II is a state-sponsored advocate for residents in long-term care facilities. He lives in Crystal Lake, Illinois with his wife, Vickie, and daughter, Sage. He is a three-time Pushcart, Best of the Net and Best of the Web nominee whose work has appeared in more than a thousand publications.