After a Week Away
~David Meyer
~for Pat
Sun settled behind me, I round
a bend in the Jemez foothills and meet
the moon’s ghost smiling through
a purple-mountain scrim above
the Sangre de Christos. An hour later
rolling in to Albuquerque
beneath Sandia's charred silhouette,
the first stars spark in a twilight
of blue-black, violet, and rust.
If only you were here, nothing
could improve this day, we two
strolling the airport portico, chilly,
rapt by high desert visions like two
elderly Navajos holding hands
in the long Way of Beauty. Yes …
Except, my flight's delayed, landing
at Midway in the hours when even
our Chicago streets settle
into peace. Wanting to make
delay itself walk in beauty,
I scribble this in the sure and certain
hope that, letting me sleep-in
tomorrow, you will find it waiting
for you on the newel post at the turn
of the stairs, and reading it, will smile.
Find work previously published in the peace issue here.
