Opaque, before the light of early dawn,
a window pane; a portal to our youth,
plays visions out of time. My eyes are drawn
to scenes within. An oracle of truth
embraces me, its chilly arms enfolding
my heart and all my dreams. She loves him yet;
she mourns the distant hand she could be holding;
the touch her mind and body can’t forget.
As dark as any moonless night I’ve known,
and darker still; my heart. What muse I’ve had
is black as any crow that’s ever flown
and speaks in the vernacular of sad--
as if the eyes of God were unforgiving;
as if my soul had died and left me living.
~
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