Cortes Island B.C.

The sun lounges on the mountain crest, today
it can not rise. What does it mean,

when we don't see any Orcas, but we hear them
in each other's words. The first cloud appears

the day we leave; a foreshadowing you miss
even when it rains. The silver stream waves,

ripples of withered Spring Salmon spawn, ebb,
and die. Bees stop at hollyhock blossoms, deep

red or fragile pink with kiwi star centers. The taste
of honey, does it change? This morning,

a brown spider shared our bathroom, and you
entered my steam for the last time. Even then,

you would not cry. Know this. I have learned to hear
the Brown Creeper which makes no noise as it eats.

Copyright © 2008 Sandra Savage All rights reserved
from FreeFall
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission