Days Mourned

dark-eyed junco’s flit in emergence from
a serpentine branch
of the Dragon’s Claw Willow, where they
cleave as one on their ranch

like beads of unknotted pearls, sweet
infusion of her sweat draws his lips
toward the gray skirt sliding off alluring
sun-tinged, rose-scented hips

rhythm, melding movement as one
clouds drifting, both sated
dizzy from her consummate beauty
whiffs of long locks braided

muffling of her scent, voice, and warmth
rouse him from his barren bed
love no longer joins like two tributaries 
her death, a sting, a daunting dread

ruminations, a pink sugar maple bud
or a cow lowing for her calf
hymn of a lone mourning dove tarries
by her torpid, beloved other half

animals fed, watered, time stirs like mud
wrens, crickets cease to nest
like a sepia rose whose petals never shed
his desolation shall never rest