Somewhere Between Dawn and Midnight
She sits in the weathered-wicker chair; I in the porch swing. I think back almost fifty years and see her face as it was then: rapture-blue eyes forever reminding me of a lake on a stormy day. She was always the one.
Her beauty endures all these years, undiminished. And as she smiles her wonderful smile, my wrinkled hands iron out.
Then midnight quickly swallows her whole, without warning. Her beauty lost as quick as the new day’s sun rises and finds my eyes.
I dry my new-dawn tears with my once again wrinkly hands.