Triolet Lament
by Gloria Viglione

No lamenting our moonlight kiss amidst the cricket’s song
nor its symphony of waves, filling my every sigh—
knowing, come Monday, it will all be just a memory, prolonged.
No lamenting our moonlight kiss, amidst the cricket’s song.
Taste. Feel the dew of the columbine. To you, I belong.
Catch the raindrop’s fragrance, key to the hummingbird’s nectar. Oh, why
no lamenting our moonlight kiss amidst the cricket’s song—
nor it’s symphony of waves, filling my every sigh?

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