All Posts By: Byron McCoy

               “He saw (her) for the first time that morning.  They exchanged glances, trying to recognize the emotions of the day before.  For a moment each seemed unreal to the other—then the slow warm hum of love began again.”—F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night _____                In quiet peace of morning’s way, they exchanged […]

               Friday rose to a gray morose of clouded sky, water-freeze of puddles on cement.  Though a warmth had shone and lived, cold returned.  Winter remained.                Through the gray, slow rising with sun, slowly it erased.  She stared on the sky and from fugue, depth and dimensions returned to see; layers of clouds, textures […]

               In middle February, warm front arrived and amidst they lived a Lover’s Spring—too soon, premature by world and ration’s measure but by trust, belief, and will of the spirit becomes, as experience, all the same.                Limbs of the trees stayed barren, swells of dormant buds small and closed and saved; but there was […]

               In read of the poem, he thought of her in youth and read and way of share in years before. *****                Candle light on wooden tray, long stemmed glass of wine, deep of red, beside; its taste to her tongue, dry and its linger, as warmth-take of the drink eased and opened mind […]