In the Shadows
story blooming,
on the edge of a thought
struggling, incapable
unqualified, mostly vulnerable
to the midnight still
stars in pieces of sapphire
crisp and clean
dancing across the skies
remembering the love, alive
a fire on the inside
melancholic verses, visions
epiphanies in sighs
caressing the timeless notes
prayers on holy rhythms
blending with purple
symphonies,
revealing to the spirit
sweet intimacy
bold as the moon, who sees
everything
and still shines
in spite of the darkness
and its obscurity
in spite of the deafness
found beyond the wind
singing through the trees
limbs like grey fingers
reaching beyond the meaning
of darkness
to the promise of a dream
a heart, robbed
of its heartfelt
a heart, drowned
by the rivers of silence
feelings muted
by the colored breath
echo on the night
feeding the spirit
its eternal sight
whispering to me
of destinies, inviting
me to hear
the heartfelt who is still
like a river’s brow
beating against the banks
where laughing words
and deafened poems
pour from her waters
wet as dew
and just as true
she rises and reminds me
there is truth
in the winsome breath
a loved song,
stirred by the murmurs
streams of real
flowing from the hills,
rushing to remember
rustling like December
Christmas dreams
receding into the distant
heat, where the sturdy feet
of wind, singing free
guides the night on
through the weeks, eternity
rising in the spirit
eternity, with the One
who speaks
when everything we seek
is still, a quiet leaf
a silent stream
a still, cool grief
on and on, so weak
clinging to my soul
shy as a melody
her truth a peace
weeping
on the edges of a week
when she hurt
like the dry, stale seeds
who will never grow
infertility – menopausal
pieces of grief
darkness seeping through
to bite into the hues
of memories
turned blue, memories
of me and you.
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