i remember ...
walking to your gray-stone house
on the crust of snow in March, when the air
was still and soft, reminiscent of pearl,
it was a night of smoked glass that felt like a dream
it might have been
the whispers of love...
the sweetest of songs, sung into the ether
while your warm spirit hung on bare trees,
a rose bud expecting summer, awakening
to find itself chilled at dawn in midwinter
the rhythm ...
of my heart sundered our paths
i set you free, i followed my joy
down a yellow brick road, looking back sometimes
but no regrets after all for the hills
and valleys of my solitary adventure