In The Frail Night Poem by Susan Lacovara

How is it a man
With so much to say
Sits alone by lamplight
Awaiting love to illuminate
The hours of his all too late life
Believing she is soon to arrive
And will carry with her
The glow of the Winter moon
In hands as soft as a dove's coat
As she purrs with the voice of a content kitten


Somewhere else in the stretched out evening
She keeps her fingers crossed
In a crocheted corner of her own conceal
Convinced the clock on her wall is lying
It cannot be that another day
Has ended in the same way

Two perfect silhouettes
Seemingly looking for one another
Their stories of sweet searching sent out
Over canyons and valleys
Bridging waters and winding through woods
Breathing but one shared breath
Each sighing in the silence
Of their unwanted solitude
With only an echoed exhale
From afar...
And neither notices
Yet the night knows
And hangs it's head in shame