Love Among the Box Factory Ruins

Love Among the Box Factory Ruins  
   
We walk by the banks of the muddy Mississippi  
where I hunted the 19th century ghosts.  
There, old glass bottles washed to shore  
along with rusty square nails from a time long before me.  
I scavenged for glass whiskey flasks  
and broken glass once filled  
with medicine with nostalgic eyes.  
 
We climb the river bluffs to say goodbye.    
Feathery indigo clouds are suspended    
over old man river’s curve into the horizon.    
Tendrils of misty droplets    
hang in milky fronds    
curling toward the ground.      
Snowy fleece of cirrus    
with patches of teal sky loom overhead.    
Kudzu climbs over the box factory ruins    
where my great grandfather toiled    
in the heart of the roaring twenties
whose wealth passed him by
like a locomotive headed somewhere else
when a nickel bought a movie    
and confederate veterans    
still gathered at the diner.    
 
The smoke stack still points like a steeple  
up at the heavens  
where laborers have emigrated;  
And where I too will go to  
but with that prospect  
far from my boyish heart.
   
Green shrubbery blankets the sunken bluffs    
below our perch.    
A river boat horn bleats through quiet evening.    
A cardinal swoops out of foliage below    
arcing gracefully back into the thicket.    
   
Rosie sits on foliage matted bench by my side.    
We have passed through our high school years like this,    
finding silent moments to ease each other.    
Her sigh is deep as the impending night.    
Our closeness is a second nature.    
With shared dreams of future happiness    
whispered amongst dusk sounds    
our golden eternity is imagined    
in this sanctuary of peace    
beyond the reach of urban hustle.    
Leaves rustle in the warm breeze    
and saffron sunset clouds glow angelically.    
Her hand is warm in my palm    
like a tiny sparrow    
with her delicate and reassuring touch.    
The goodness of the earth    
is felt deeply in this encounter with her.    
Her lush love is lavished    
in the waning magic    
of ardor’s smoldering embers.