That Night Poem by HERB LOWREY

You left me on my knees,
your trademark smile dancing
with candle flames on wine goblet collages.

You posed in my captain's cap,
its gold braid celebrating the moment,
photo long lost in a box,
never sent to where I never knew.

That night you sat on my bed,
Whitney Houston sang,
I Want to Run to You,
I am on my knees,
arms around you,
reciting a love poem of falling
eagles risking life to mate.

That night you left
for upstate New York with another man
because you feared to dance on my street,
away from the pulp fiction of your life.

That night I begged you to stay,
your hands held me,
as you kissed my forehead,
whispering, "I will call you."

That night with the door shut,
alone on my bed, I hugged
your forgotten shawl,
inhaling your scent,
marking your territory in my mind.

Since you disappeared in a moment's glance,
every night has been cold dark under
a lone mesquite, spinning tall sticks
on broken saguaro ribs,
until my bloody hands, swollen with tears,
cradled fire births to warm
my emptiness.

I was your voodoo man feeling your struggle,
chest swollen with pain, longing

to hold you,
to protect you.

After ten seasons of drought,
imprisoned by searing sun digging
at the roots of that last awful night,
your wistful clouds cool
me. New rain scatters
my dust, and I fall
upon your wetness
to heal torn lips

Entwined at last,
I sleep with you,
inhale your fresh desert creosote,
cleansed by monsoon rains.

Your touch swells my river
floating debris away.