AN ACCOLADE FOR EVA BROUN

A special honor to an ex-consort.

To Eva Broun, my consort of one day:
Do you recall our small steps
to the northern coast of Shire -
where for your people,
and the locale for me to see?
The day the scotching sun
seared our faces until we sweated
profusely?
The day our sċōh-fitted pads
trod the hot ashen sands of the
unknown niches of out hearts
that were poles apart?
The day we had only ourselves
to listen to the squelching sound
our feet made ‐
while we trod the unknown together?
The gentle wind on the
plains donning the brown
dry Savanna grass that
hissed of the forerunner
of our fast withering love?
Sincerely, I whine at that
every time I revisit you
at the beaches of thought