There’s a bud of a rose here on my desk
Phosphorous in darkened tinge
As if the flame that had burnt it dry
Still warmed the eyes set upon it
A coal
Breathing long past the flame
Ours forever there
We sit together, this rose and I,
In this room
No cage, but four walls just the same
Listening for the turning of the latch
The swing of a neglected but well loved door
Followed by those gentle words “I’m home.”
But that never comes
And only sleeps on
It is not that I planned it so
Though things are either planned in full
Or no one can pay the fates so well
But that she came here
And left as the
Memories emerged
And spoke in the language of
The tides.
I call for her sometimes
But I’m afraid there is a bit much
Gentleness in my beckoning
Fear to blur the past
Or to make the future.
We once found ourselves on the same ship
With a deep sea beneath us
And just the whisper of the
Morning sky on the horizon
Which I smile at
Even if I cannot find the will
To go to search her out
On Again
I have grown too accustomed to
The ground
My feet
To leave
The belief in it