Life's shortest day

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original poetry
and photos
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Hive account@d-pend

Lilt-step—
unrhythm lurched
beyond recognition,
yet she returns to me.

Whistle and stroll,
a silver banister of chrome.

Wayward gold,
made me a monument
with the wind's whimsy
at my back,
propelled
by a solitary tine.

Memories surge,
but single-file.

Verdure of mind,
cerulean waves
to bypass the turnstile.

They flood the street;
The solstice sets.

And now there's
no one on the path
to greet—I smile.