Promised Day

This is a promised day,
Despite the 3am snare of dread,
For love is a force,
That creates our hearts,
And has to sing,

The nocturne ends,
As the baking bread,
Drifts on the air,
Shifts the day past front garden,
Laiden with bird hospitality,

Up the gentle tarmac,
Beyond the lava wall,
Where lizards hide,
The Abuelo is turning his field,
Before breakfast,

And the soft volcanoes,
Fold upon fold,
Nursing our village,
A buzzard takes his time,
Loops the painted sky,

A steep incline,
Down to the zucos,
Where vines nestle,
An egret scalps himself,
Hunting its prey,

Where the picon divides,
A shimmer of black,
In gentle mounds,
To the plough and the shovel,
And the field,

Here on the jable,
All land is muted,
Cloud dew has started to fall,
Hitching on the track,
A gauze across the sand,

I see your distinctive walk,
An easy friendship,
And along the path you approach,
Coming closer,
Your smile and turned-in feet,

Eyes a pleasure to meet,
You have the key to the back gate,
A cloud mist has swept in,
Now we walk side by side,
You talk about making lunch,

Inside the house I make coffee,
While you turn on the news,
But the signal buffers,
Your olive coloured trackies,
Your short clean nails,

Are still the same,
We sit together,
With the world shut off
You and me,
The new bake bread,

I reach for words,
In a feather.