Held

It is dusk.
We part ways for a final time.
My thoughts quickly become distant memories.
Chestnut orbs, well with tears,
As rain platters on stone steps in sympathy.

Swollen drops matt my hair to my puffy face.
Weak fingers bunch up my clothes.
Perhaps there will be another dawn,
But none as bright as this morning's,
And none so warm as to dry these tears.