You came to me in the rut of the crocodile.

A traveler,
telling tales
of titanium ships that sought
the fiery heart of the galaxy.

An enchanter,
who spun bright
ribbons of laughter
from a haze of grey
blue days.

A pirate,
with bottle green eyes
and a glass-shard grin...

Then,
when again the crocodilian dance began
you were gone. Leaving me
a silver sliver, cold
against my skin.

I must remember, the light a comet trails is ice.

Poetry

© 1998 Leslie Laurence