by Barbara Brooks
Fire’s ember tendered
by moss, exposed to air,
extinguished by tears.
In a Room,
I dance
with you
in light shafts,
before drifting
to shadow.
The
door
cracks,
a current sucks
me to dark.
Cold air
settles,
taking me
to the floor.
I am snagged
by a crevice
between boards.
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I see the end of relationship, definite, but the woman doesn’t
want to let go, almost a visceral desire on her part.