Last Light
A poem by Ken Gierke

Last Light

A trying day
pressing close to its end,
I watch your sleep,
restless for both of us.

Eyes closed,
do you see what lies
ahead or a past
that is out of reach

but seems closer
the closer you come
to being with the one
you’ve held dear?

When a calm settles
over you, I leave
to find my own
beside the river.

Sun low on the horizon,
its rippled reflection
is no match for the light
that once filled your eyes.

In the sun’s last light,
a cool breeze off the water
is no substitute
for a mother’s caress.

Night upon us,
I return to your side
to face the inevitable,
your hand in mine.

About the Author:

Ken Gierke is retired and writes primarily in free verse and haiku. His poetry has been published or is forthcoming in print and online in such places as Poetry Breakfast, Ekphrastic Review, Amethyst Review, Silver Birch Press, Trailer Park Quarterly, Rusty Truck, The Gasconade Review, and River Dog Zine. His poetry collections, Glass Awash in 2022 and Heron Spirit in 2024, were published by Spartan Press.
His website: https://rivrvlogr.

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