The Afternoon Sun Poem by Emma Atkinson

You come to me in the stillness of the afternoon,
Gentle as the wind that, like an old friend, brushes the wisps out of my eyes,
I look to the skies, cloudless and clarity of blue,
And think of you,
Wondering if the sun is smiling at you now,
And if the grass teases at your ankles as you sit,
Eating with a furrow in your brow.
I wonder if it makes you smile,
And if you are thinking of me.
If you ever do now.
And when you do,
If it is some faint memory that tickles the back of your mind,
Like a blade of hay in the wind.
I wonder if you're laughing now,
That shock of baritone notes trilling in my memory,
Filling my own chords with a sigh.
I shake my head and smile at the sun,
That has ever since the day I met you,
Reminded me of you,
And I hope against the immutability of the afternoon sky
That you will come to me in the stillness,
As real as the stone blocks I sit upon,
And that this,
This gentle longing is no more than a breeze,
That soon shall pass and be filled only with the warmth of the sun