The Sunday After

My haze cloud memory
And pain ache hobble
Rode through the lights
That framed your kiss
And placed you full faced
In the sweet warm silent
Morning sun.
 
Your back stage
sideline tip-toe smile
Always on the edge of forever
Whispered your name
And vanished in the night.
Tripping down the cast list,
Tasting audition tremors,
An understudy triumphant
Left me wondering
Who, how, where?
 
And I chased you,
Down wafer paper lists
Into little black books,
Friends and friends
And friends of friends,
Until,
In the tired tea time glow
Of long late summer,
Your quiet voice
Echoed laughter Back
Across the miles
That Sunday after
Sunday afternoon