at dawn

shall I rise at dawn to find you gone?
promises left like footprints in sand,
washed and blown away by rain and wind?

shall I rise at dawn to find you gone?
mysteries becoming histories of lovers
hovering between the revelation and sin?

shall I rise at dawn to find you gone?
leaving a legacy of words and whispers
that blister flesh and heart and prayers?

shall I rise at dawn to find you gone?
not in the flesh, but in your heart, drifting
like a mist on wet moss, following the wind?

shall I rise at dawn to find you gone?
your limbs, cold and stiff, life fled
to another sphere, no longer near enough to touch?

shall I rise at dawn to find you gone?
perhaps. but it is better than the cruelty
of allowing you to wake to your own lamentations.


William F. DeVault