On the Edge of the Past

Craig W. Steele

dandelion yellow
turns white
turns bare

empty lullabies
from abandoned nests
drift upon chill breezes

my lover’s eyes
blinded
by the death of passion

falling leaves…
in their place
harvest moon

we watch together
miles apart, balancing
on the cusp of winter,

on the edge of the past—
two scarecrows
yearning to breathe