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Image by Fabrizio Conti

Day Is Done

When our day is done, I’ll watch your line of trees 
draw its veil from west to east across our yard.
As the day unwinds, I will listen for your words,
hear murmurs in the wings of bees bound home.

Before light fails, I will roam your garden row.
I’ll bend tall canna stems, pull bandanna bloom
to my nose. I will feel soft petal skin. I will let go.
When our day is done, I will walk the night alone.

David Milley has written and published since the 1970s, while working as a technical editor and web applications developer. His verse appears in Painted Bride Quarterly, RFD, Friends Journal, Feral, and Capsule Stories. Retired now, David lives in New Jersey with his husband and partner of forty-seven years, Warren Davy, who’s made his living as a farmer, woodcutter, nurseryman, auctioneer, beekeeper, and cook. These days, Warren tends his garden and keeps honeybees. David walks and writes.


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