When we were young,
sunlight flew from our laughter.

We picnicked on dunes
where shoeless wild ponies roamed,
giggled over cheap wine at dolphins
trailing our starboard rail.

I knew no other man after you.

Light seems suddenly dimmer now;
afternoon shadows lengthen.
Death is a man walking backwards,
more rapidly each time I look.

Give me your hand.
Draw me once again to your bed.
Make this evening 
our shelter, our stand
against the encroaching night.

Pris Campbell
(slightly revised 2008)

Art:  Ring by Elena Retfalvi
  copyrighted and used with permission.

  Click on her name to visit her website.
  A prize-winning artist, Elena's photography
  has appeared on my pages before. 

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