Gloaming

Don't talk. I'm shivering. Let the moment pass
without a word opening fast,
killing our thoughts.
This is the quiet
I spoke of.
You threw away the letters
I wrote
during the war.
You said you could not bear them.
Don't talk now.
The details were all there.
You fault me for pouring
my soul on paper.
You were afraid your mother would open
them
and know our secret.
On this mountain
there are too many secrets.
Creatures make their way
around our house
in the pitch black.
You can hear them sniffing.
You blame the letters
disappearing on a mischievous
raccoon.
The evidence of paw prints
and bags of flour
overturned.
I know you wish I had not said what I did.
Your family would kill for less.
The wine is heavy in me
and the fields wait for the plough.
Don't talk unless you are prepared
to say it...
you want me.
There is nothing beyond the bend.
And you want only
me.