Love, when it came
came late
springing forth
from tide’s retreat
into my tired eyes
then silken-like
slipped o’er my breasts
my shoulders and my thighs
a shimmering dress
of forgotten sighs.

A suppleness replaced
the gaunt
of aging limbs
light of foot
and lovely I became
(love’s sleight of hand
the consequence)
in fading light
so long untried
with end in sight

Love, when it came
came late.
exalting in
the waning moon
without reproach
at tidal fall
nor did I weep
that it be brief
but wondered it
had come at all.

Frances Jackson-Patrick, 2015

For Stephen

Frances Jackson-Patrick is a member of Benicia’s First Tuesday Poetry Group. The above poem won first place at Benicia’s 2015 Love Poetry Contest

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