down from forest to field,
circling flowers, bouncing off bees,
snapping spiders off their webs.
It serenades memories
from the mind's lethargy,
calling me to an inner sanctuary;
a place a woman's heart has built.
I cut through the tangled vines of solitude
and step out into the world.
Warmth and beauty fill the landscape
in every direction. The paths are many.
I saunter and fill with hope as I go,
down a fragrant trail to a garden of stone.
Here the sky reaches only so high, and I
become an empty voice.
I see her there, beyond the stone wall,
sitting among caged birds and dying flowers.
The sunset has covered her eyes like eyelids.
She pivots inside time.
In a cage beside her is a thrush,
its song blown and scattered across the pavement.
Her lips tremble. Her eyes break like windows
with a storm blowing in, all their color floods out.
I run to her in a yell – alive, determined,
each step sinking deeper into the mud.
Her image pulls away and turns to mist.
I collapse among the cherubim.
And so it is, that an old song can wither away
and spin quietly down the drain of time –
no longer allowing one to love
the way they were once loved.