Here among straight backs,
green shirts and flirting sparks
of light, of feather,
among songs of ancients
the wind, lonely as a stone
tells me something.
It touches the old swing
by the river, begins to push
just enough to capture the eye
and surely there are ghosts
in private conversations
sipping coffee in the earliest sun.
I lost a love here my heart says.
A book of poems, yet unfinished,
traces the path
around and between the giants,
over the moss,
the stone beach.
You tell me, why I was lonely.
And I indeed
was never perfect.
You know where we flew to.
Then I, so tired,
easily frightened in those days,
felt the anchor tear away
from everything.
Touch me, my skin cried.
You were off fighting wars
of your own,
drowning slowly.
I'll tell you a secret, someone
told me the things you were saying
and that
opened the doors
of my going away.
for the past we let go of
