In the Passing of a Day

i can't recall
when the winds let go
of your hair,
and began to die out
in alleyways;
when my faith became cost
and the moon seemed 
to turn

i failed 
to notice
when the pepper swarms
of black swallows
laid down 
like ashes.

the scenic spots
all revealed
their feeble lies.
and your blue eyes
in your hollows.
and small though it was
the effort to touch
consumed us.

and all day 
i could not find
the opaque sound
of shade.

Steven Reid