I left you in an era of woodfires,
Red leaves burning like sunset on tin roofs.
No rain swept reason for such loss compares,
To what cannot be earthbound by a word.
Though winter falls like crystal past the pane,
I feel your shadow thumbprints on my lids.
West is the echo of the imagery
Compelling light on fields of goldenrod.
Previously published, 'Poetry Depth Quarterly'
Sandra Fowler
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/compelling-light/
