more of a shape, a beauty, sensed
than a master’s painted portrait
more of an aura, an essence
framed with flowing curls
carved into a wish’s blurry periphery
colors, as warm as memory
and as chilled
as Savannah’s river tombs
lovers’ poems, lain deep
beneath the amber shimmer
I could hear her, singing
tho no music played
and tho her lips, stilled
aye, singing, into the afternoon’s
brick-street wither
her voice, a choir
of a thousand whispers
and I never touched her
never daring any nearer
to fortuity’s compulsive intention
never daring closer
tho I knew– that I’d loved her
once, in a life prior
twice, perhaps, before
and now simply returning
or that I could
or that I might, again, this very day–
were the sky above us
more blue, or less gray
were the riverbank nights not so
a hawk flew over
carving slow-umber ovals
above her own silver-wave reflection
her wings splayed wide
her prey
knowing divinity’s silent grace
only once
and only for a pauper’s moment
before dying
tho never making amends
and never again
returning home
and I wonder, still
if her mind finds
these small things, as does mine
or if she’d think my poignancy
still, if the sky were more
or less
I could love her
I could

6 Replies to “stay”

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