A Day of Many Mornings

As you begin to fade, I live with the hope of the next time

And my loneliness - I wipe like a well waxed floor,

It never shows

And is well preserved and built through years

And in the nights when I see the truth and I know

I am losing you bit by bit,

Piece by piece,

Memory by memory,

I walk the streets and look at the stars

Oh how the moon burns my skin

And then I return to you and your smiles

And your day of many mornings. 

bobby stevenson 2013