The Peripheries of Love by Michael Burch
Through waning afternoons we glide
the watery peripheries of love.
A silence, a quietude falls.
Above usâ€“-the sagging pavilions of clouds.
Below usâ€“-rough pebbles slowly worn smooth
grate in the gentle turbulence
of yesterdayâ€™s forgotten rains.
Later, the moon like a virgin
lifts her stricken white face
and the waters rise
toward some unfathomable shore.
We sway gently in the wake
of what stirs beneath us,
yet leaves us unmoved ...
as though twilight might blur
the effects of proximity and distance,
as though love might be nearâ€“-
as a single cupped tear of resilient dew
or a long-awaited face.
Originally published by Romantics Quarterly