Lynn Rose

a gray woman
named Lynn Rose
came to see me
tho she wasn’t there
to see me, specifically
we were in the same place
at the same time
as happens often for all of us
without a second thought given
souls– bumping against a glass sky
uncertain– of where they belong
but seeking the light
and she smiled
tho she doesn’t smile, most days
hard eyes, softened, a pale blue
like the mist of morning’s wishfulness
letting me nearly all the way– inside
where I lingered
for a few long moments
saying nothing
words are trifles
and most are lies
but I saw her there
in a sway-grass field
as a young girl
she was singing
a child’s song
the lyrics–
like the wind’s memories
oh, so lovely, and smiling
with soft eyes
of pale blue

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