Poetry

A Melancholy End

It tasted like honey and Big Red and herb of the earth.

The end shifted in with the night breeze-
shimmering on the tiny caps of the waves;
they crashed with the sound of summer
but the air tasted like the death of fall.

Even the crickets sang a mournful song;
the stars wore their brightest jewels and danced one last time.

You sang, and I tasted the words from your lips
honey and Big Red and herb of the earth.

I don’t remember how the moon looked -
just that the water was too cold to dip my toes in.