4 AM Dawn

Sirens scream panic
down a darkened country lane
leading up to
the old dirt path
to her doorway.
The wooden porch swing
sways playfully
under a roaring halo
of firelight
pulsing along a precipice
of chaos,
sedated smoke hovering
above nostalgic nightmares;
memories raging against stars,
shaking empty fists at shadows.

In another place,
he wakes,
in a tender embrace,
against tempered glass
of chilled sunrise,
spilled dreams
painting  
bourbon clouds
in the sheets,
watercolors
where his heart
once danced in her warmth.

The night air
silently
swallows painful secrets
as sighing maples stir
in silhouette,
yawning
against the scraping of dawn.

A practiced smile
stretches over
weathered cheekbones
as feeble fingers fondle smooth buttons
through hemmed slits in thread-worn fabric.