Beacon

​i traced lines of yours hands,

palm to wrist, 

reading yarns of the culled and lost.

.
our waves wed river to sea,

and my love flashed green

dappled with burgundy wine,

a beacon at the river’s edge.

.
there the wind cleaved wild cherries 

from their branches…

the falling, the falling,

and the ripples, 

as they tumbled downstream.

.


© M. G. Iannucci 2016

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