Catharsis

Maybe all our stories
end in monochrome.

But I remember
winter stalking
a snow blue dawn,
when you were late that morning

and the gasping train
beat it`s wings impatiently
as you faltered across
a fierce concrete whiteness.

The faint blush of your hurry
and yesterday`s earrings
softly caught
the new sun`s half-light.

And I knew
you were fresh from sleep
and your lover.

As the journey began,
the frost-flecked fields which
burned for miles,
made small windows
in your eyes.

And the jasmine scent of you
touched what was left
of my soul.