Like clockwork
the village dogs
barked in the dawn,
every day
a little earlier
until it seemed
we barely slept
between.

Owls called
the witching hour
from the waiting woods,
where a strawberry moon
wept patient tally.
Heavy as honey
The days unfolded,
while summer trickled away,
stealthy as guilt
through our dreaming fingers.

If I had kissed you then,
could we have chosen
a different ending?