Your hands are warm in my cheek, why do I
Feel them still as life has passed your threshold?
Are my hands cold as are our hearts that need
From the sun’s temper to arrest its glow
And tighten our fist so we won’t let go
Of you. Till dusk calls us from the dark field
And we stand morbid to see you descend
From the cross where all is accomplished.
As night brings you down, each night for my sake,
You wait for my returning home each night -
Your hands have been cold from the bitter rain
Or from fear that I would not be found safe.
But tonight their warmth exudes a permanence,
A tender farewell, a final detached gift.
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