Early Darkness

by Meg Smith

Cast your sorrow
into the purple clouds.
Time is burning beneath them.
A brook curdles, in
a rush of pebbles,
and dried reeds.
That's where we can go
when the hours move.
That's where we can go,
though it will be only,
I alone,
one foot on the stones wedged
along the bank,
while you lay amid
the rattle of oak leaves.
We will go,
and those leaves and stones
descend in their path
to waters
that do not turn back

Meg Smith is a poet, journalist, dancer and events producer living in Lowell, Mass.

Her poems have appeared in The Cafe Review, Poetry Bay, Astropoetica, Illumen, Dreams & Nightmares, the Dwarf Stars anthology of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Poetry Association and many more…