Before all of our totems fell, you drew <br />A talisman on my forehead – I prayed <br /> <br />For a late harvest and rose like a <br />Steel-eyed crow, scouring <br /> <br />As many grains as I could devour before the last <br />Burnt vestiges of summer sloughed from my skin; <br /> <br />Before the light touch of early wind could suggest <br />Our search for conclusions was at an end. That last New <br /> <br />York night, we sat in Astoria. Hope sparked. I took in <br />The darkening skyline, struggled against sleep, dared <br /> <br />Dream of a future again. Had I been a better alchemist <br />I would not have nursed this, would have slipped away <br /> <br />From the past to blend memories like a salve, <br />Muddling with the practiced ease of one who works to forget <br /> <br />Everything, even instinct. Flying out of Manhattan that morning, <br />I left behind something more beautiful than any scar <br /> <br />I’d ever unpeeled. It was as promising <br />A morning since our demise was first revealed.<br /><br />John Sarvay<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/elegy-for-september-10/
