She brought such joy under each moon,
the air quiver of a cricket’s sharp chirp tingling,
a pierce of air and hot thud of penetrating point.
All we have seen, left straw strewn ground,
all pasturage and mastication gone to dawn,
flaming days of afterward upon afterward
with no night again shot through breathless,
consummate aim, burning passion plucked,
and such swift release, perfect exhale of air.
Breathless no more, we are, just as you wished,
our only just for then, as you wished, flies past me now.
Lanning Lee 