Rosemary Purse

STANDING OVATION

Now That You’ve Gone

there is a tumbled bed… a forlorn stage
of towels and winceyette sheets breathing
traces of spicy perfume…
oiling the room that is
thinly lit by storm-flared silver
shearing a rapidly darkening sky
rearing over snow-sculpted alps

above which
buffeted… surely
you will rise.

Upright in this room, adjacent to the stage
I hear the airport runway rumblings on the
clear hail-driven air
recharging… again… my terrorised mind…

… tiny-aircraft… my love aloft…
… suddenly this love-warmed body chills,
… calling… for you return.