An Antique Moment Poem by Thomas Donnelly

An antique moment, a gold and crimson horizon,
all things murmur sleepily, silence dreams in hazy corners
behind shuttered windows, breathing
so very, very softly, in the dusk light.
Echoing footsteps, an alien sound
as I wander the stillness of this distant dream,
shadowed houses conceal memories
of cold, held hands, a blurry silhouette
reflected in dark cloudy glass.
What is this longing I feel?
I do not fill this brief moment, this simple street
carved with long shadows, dreaming
of having back what it lost.
Barely breathing, I know this light,
this street, this moment, longs
to know the warmth, the fey presence
that you once graced it with:
a joyful face, a shy wave
in the gilded light before dark.