Hushed

Laurel verses sheen around me                                                                                               as I stroll among the hybrid brambles.

Sometimes I lose hope of ever seeing you again.

I close my eyes and and a white, distorted, fading image of the past dazzles my vision.

What I want are the verses that end in grassy fields where I can snatch a few unseen red rubies from where the paths struggle along the lonely lake,                                       but then dip into the orchard,                                                                                               among the tufted bed of mulberries.

Stilled, I let myself go as I listen to the palaver of nearby birds that seem to want to reveal their secrets to me;

I hear their astir, genial whispers on branches that don’t seem to care.

Listening, their soft melodies rest on my heart.

By some miracle, in this moment, my battles are hushed.

Here, everything shares their riches with each other.

Their melodies changed me into something, rich and strange.

My mind rummages through entangled images.

If I would have only held onto the yellow thread you have given me.  It could have led me to these laurel verses sooner.

The fragrance of the mulberries grows as the days closes.

My shadow languishes, disappearing disturbingly, erased, folded in a haze. Just like your presence.