Dawn in North Carolina.
I sit and read your letter.
Charing Cross mail.
Miles from me, you wake.
Dawn in Michigan.

I can only imagine your rising.
Do you count the years backward?
Do you celebrate this day as I do?

Do you yawn and stretch, then slowly rise?
Or, do you race the sun’s rays to begin your day?
Does morning mist and cool autumn’s breeze caress your body?
Am I to bold longing to lay beside you,
To see you at this most vulnerable and honest moment,
To feel your skin, warm to my touch,
To touch lips, moist as the dew on market days,
To look into your eyes and see the mind and soul.

How your words strike at my heart.
Desire and fear mingle over thoughts of meeting,
But if fate decrees, then we shall meet,
Allowing words to become action,
And action will lead us down a new road.

My day is ending.
I lie down and close my eyes.
Angels circle overhead to give their kiss before I sleep,
Yet I am not comforted, for it is your embrace I seek.
I begin to fall and think of you.
A day in Michigan, a man,
A collector, a letter tomorrow.

I imagine your rising.
Do you count the years backward?
Do you celebrate this day as I do?
It is your day and you make it special,
Charing Cross.

Kent Speer

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