With waning light

With waning light on the westward hills
we waited for the moon to rise
over the ocean, and I grabbed your hand
as you shivered from the cold.

The rocky bluffs protrude over the
village; as it’s lights turn on to
bring the psuedo-day, so I do
also with your warming touch.

To think that now we wait here, under the
guiding lights of an unused beacon,
waiting for the spring to come,
and bring back the warmth.

Let’s have a picnic here, in the spring.

(Atlantic Highlands, NJ, c. 1976)