Your Memory
When evening trickled inside my tent
the sun had already turned into an orange flame
perishing behind the slopes of Craignure.
I poured some kerosene onto the coal and made a fire.
Blue flames leaped into the black haze of nightfall.
Near the camp, I lit a candle and covered it
with a slender open glass.
On the other side of the hill the lake opened
like a mirror unveiled after a vigil.
At midnight, I woke up to a sound and thought I heard
your voice. I lit the hurricane lamp and stepped outside.
The darkness and the lake had become inseparable.
Just the sound of water lapping gently on the rocks
and the wind in the trees.
***
Love