Beauty.

Like a waking
Only more uncertain
you entered the room
All sun behind cloud
your edges the fire.

I'd learnt the feint and a retreat
for times just like you
so automatic it was steel
a primal reflex 
from the muds of Sunday School.

At dusk, the scent of hope
on the wind rioting your hair,
where my hands used to be,
as the stars blessed us
a deception of time unchallenged.

Fear is the fear I'm afraid
even in the unravelling 
complications, adornments
to keep the sun behind
but still afire.