The sun coming down
over the crossroads
throws a golden light across the dust.
The wooden fences create shadow patterns of crosshatch.
I left town before light and now as the cool air melts away
and I notice the mud on my boots
my mind drifts back to you.
I picture you still in bed,
not waking at this hour, not yet,
missing the sunrise but smiling softly in your dreams.
I will never forget how we would talk in the mornings,
You would tell me your dreams and you'd laugh.
But I've had to leave, and when you hold someone else
and tell them your dreams
make sure they listen
and treat you softly
May kindness rain on you in torrents.
Published by David O'Sullivan