Down Bedlam Lane Part II

Your story to remain untold

Apr 25, 2024

Evening as I pass
by your old place.
Cream, she rises
from the meadow to the hall

long transfigured
by childhood games
and unconsummated
hauntings.

Through hedgerows, past
the wedding cars
we weave our separate
ways in glowing dusk,

chattering like
fox-cubs when the lane
still lingers
heavy with the scent

we leave of August
nights and brighter musk.

Her summerhouse still feels
our feet, our scattered books
and cups of tea
between

Phoenician symbols, fat
slow drips
and furtive looks -

we are the alphabet
of early need.

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