Sun

Katrina Kaye

Your world is absent of light.
Dust reflected in rare brightness
only to disappear behind western vista.

Enveloped in gloom,
you watch from thick shadows
the world succumbing to the dim,
you fade in the dusk.

If I promise to follow you into the night,
take your path away from the sun
and wrap myself in your darkness,

will you sit beside me,
fingers interlaced with my own,
and watch the sun rise?

“Sun” is previously published in They Don’t Make Memories Like That Anymore (2011).

this bird

Katrina Kaye

never learned to nest

allows feathers to fall
without a thought to
where they may land

I too
am often on the wing

telling stories of lives
I could never take apart

this bird breaks to pieces
part of the puzzle that
wedged creation together

this birdsong

sweet as time

reaches

never touches

where should I hide
if not into myself

“this bird” is previously published on the Weekly Write (2020) and Saturday Salon (2020).

Katrina Kaye

It wasn’t
her perfume.

her kitchen,
a hazy dream,

She cooked with it
sometimes,

her scent,
a comfort,

picked it fresh from the
backyard where

an embrace,
soft needles folded

a giant bushel grew
beside other tiny

easily against skin,
the drizzle of rain,

emerging plants,
sage, basil, thyme.

the essence triggers
a reminder of her face,

On occasion,
after a sweet rain,

a misshaped smile
long after her absence.

the backyard would
fill with the sweet smell.

“Rosemary” was previously published in Rabbits for Luck (2016).