Sixteen Hundred Miles

Summers passed, 
ridges notched on a walking stick,
well worn memories kept
where I could feel them
beneath my fingers

and the moon turned its face
once again

A river flowed between us
as we, each on opposite shores,
held hands across the water,
never letting go

sixteen hundred miles
and counting

And we made love on a bridge
beneath a November sky 
bathed in the breath 
of an August wind

and the moon turned its face
once again




june 2007
Janet Reid