We were in flames.
You and I,
looking from the ridge
across this valley of wind.
All passion resolves itself
in our distant stare.
Faraway hills come near—
needle-green scent of pine,
shadows in corridors of stone
suddenly lit.
I can see us
emanating light like bright feathers
in the dusk,
speaking the nameless birds.
Meltwater blossoms,
the cold creek trickles
its first breath into our ears.
We were in flames,
You and I.
The birds beneath our tongues
begin to stir.
Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash
Lane Henson
Lane Henson is a writer of poems living in Duluth, Minnesota with his wife and their two daughters. His poetry has recently appeared in Pasque Petals, Sunday Morning Lyricality, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, and the forthcoming volume of The Talking Stick.