Remembering Light

Do you remember when Annie left me her bone

before going home

with you?

Slid it between the sheets while she panted

her goodbye In my ear -

how sure she must have been that

she would see me again.

Those days were full of wishes, of

finding hope in details, like

the way sunlight swept across the floor

while we prepared our meal the night before,

carelessly sipping Australian wine;

dessert on the boardwalk, blue and green

ice cream melting on her paws, three tongues

slurping flavoured dreams.

But memory colours things, doesn't it, my love?
We forget too easily why goodbye

comes with the morning,

or how sometimes

words are just words

and light is only light.