And they lived in a mountainous
forgotten place –
where days and nights
passed easily between them,
and the slow moving shadows of their bygone-selves
were cast onto sepia colored lawns.
They lived in a place
where their bent and private lives
found them stooping beneath apple trees,
to collect into their aprons and pockets,
apples that had tumbled back to earth.
they wore July’s jacket of heat,
and on their large and covered porch,
they drank iced tea,
and fanned themselves
with folded crossword puzzles.
In the evenings,
in wooden chairs,
they rocked themselves –
while the sound of faraway screen doors
snapped shut against their frames,
and they listened,
as sounds floated away like lonely ghosts.
And together, in tenacious tandem,
they moved from room to room
from baths to meals and then,
to bed and back again.
And they danced this dance for fifty years –
she in her light and leading step,
and he in his clumsy footing.