A Distant London Wind
The Muse Letter - June 01, 1989
A Distant London Wind
Late that night in London When we neared the end Of embered loves, We wandered hand in hand Past a skeletal vendor Roasting fresh chestnuts On a Leicester Square corner. As he turned them over with blackened fingers That stuck out through frayed gloves, The winter wind flared the fire, Making coals beneath Flash Christmas crimson, Brightening the grays Of a grizzled face With a healthier flush, Fluttering thin white breath To tinted ribbons. If only the season's air Had done as much for us. But in that dark wind, We merely became Yesterday's Times Crackling across Twilight's empty streets. Steven Dimeo