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We enter at the edge of the wood

over the narrow bridge across the dark lake

clotted with silver sheets of ice, and moon beams.

The hood of the sky pulled to the edges

sparkling with diamonds between brooding evening clouds.

The winding road ends at the gate

the long white house,

a sigh at the end of a journey.

Traveling home to the dark edge of light

the silky path envelops us.

A tender mercy of this life,

crying out and finding each other.

We enter at the edge of our lives

over the narrow bridge across the dark abyss

clotted with silver sheets of memory and longing.

The mantle of love pulled down to the hearts’ edge

sparks electric and charge of Eros our desire.

Still the winding road ends at the gate

a long hot rush,

a sigh at the end of a journey.

-- Lyndamarie Carson