Fewer creeks
blacker starlings
fewer home-made killing-jars
Moths and butterflies
still dancing
through the sound of passing cars
But now the creek's
beneath a building
traffic din may never end
Secret places
all are forfeit
with beetles wing and muskrat's den
Bridge us to
the purple twilight
when the mist was medicine
Spirit us
across the gloaming
to where the trees stood listening
Can you hear it
Can you hear it
Hear this song of rust and rain
In the twilight
in the gloaming
open up and feel again.
Brian Purdy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-new-romance/
