down from forest to field,
circling flowers, bouncing off bees,
snapping spiders off their webs.
It serenades old memoriesfrom the mind's lethargy,
calls me to an inner sanctuary –
a world a woman's heart has built.
I cut through tangled vines of solitudeand step out into the world.
Warmth and beauty fill the landscape.
The paths become many.
I saunter down a trail and fill with hope,come to a garden made of stone.
Here the sky reaches so high that I
become an empty voice.
I see her beyond the stone wall,among caged birds and dying flowers.
Sunset has covered her eyes like eyelids.
She pivots inside time.
A thrush sits upon her shoulder,its song now vacant from its breast.
Her eyes break like windows
as a storm blows in, floods all their color out.
I run to her in a yell – alive, determined,each step sinking deeper in mud.
Her image pulls away, turns to mist.
I collapse among the cherubim.
And so it is that an old song can wither awayand spin quietly down the drain of time –
no longer allowing one to love
the way they were once loved.
First published in Poet’s Haven on September 10, 2008.