Eyes glazed of whispers, as spectral wisps played
Upon dead wood, melody bled slowly out.

Siren of morbidity,  the departed attune to her
Rapture, Risen on white ash from above.

Frigid was her beauty as she performed, all would
Dance to the elegant tunes of deaths calling.  

Radiant glows arose and for this the wood decayed
And ash wallowed, her rhapsody faded to daylight.

All that arose wilted, no longer nourished by her calling.
Cremated on sunlight's bliss, as if they were never there

Eyes glazed of whispers, she awaits for the time of
Shadows, to play her tune of oblivion, will you stay?

Go be lightly in love, friend.
Chase evanescence on the wind.
Grab the nearest human
to feel someone close again.
I won't judge you on your whim.

I was always your daughter.
You weren't always my father.

"You know, this skirt used to be white."
She said, standing over the garden.
Her hands nervously straightened
the folds and creases and pleats.
The skirt was a little too long,
and trailed tattered in the dirt.
Her back was towards me
as she studied the coming evening.
"Then something red got mixed with the wash.
But I like it this way.
The way each fabric has a different shade of red."
There were maroons and pinks and purples,
layered as can only happen by chance.
I approached from behind, for the embrace,
and her hands rested on my hands
circumscribing her waist.
Not much was said.
Nothing needed to be said.

I went back inside to do the dishes
she sort of ambled close behind.
I don't know how the conversation started.
But there was a distant fogginess in her eye.
"It's just that I'm afraid of starting over.
I had made such great friends
and now we've all gone and scattered once again."
Her voice cracked and she blushed.
She excused herself, and slid into the bathroom.

Ah, but love, I've done the same as you.
When I left my home to chase after school.
Again, when I left school to wander down the road.
Again, when that road led me back to school.
Again, when I left town to chase a worldly life.
Every time I left dear friends, and lovers,
to chase some wild, cursory whim.

I was in my bedroom, cleaning up for the night.
I felt her presence approaching.
"******, I just need you to hold me."
So I took her in my arms, and waited patiently.
Then she cried, and it was fine.
Nothing's wrong with weeping free.
We slept in each others arms that night
which was a strange occurrence for me.
Usually I'm wide awake with the rhythms
of breath and heart cycling beside.
She spoke in her sleep,
words which she didn't understand the next day.
They were simply one iteration of a single phrase:
"Thank you."

That's the closest she came to saying "good-bye."

I remember that evening
when you were love-drunk,
freely swinging in the park.
Giddy with some fantasy
or maybe you knew
with whom you were involved.
We stayed awake all night,
just two kids with nothing going on.

I remember us sneaking out.
It was much easier for me.
My dad just didn't care.
I could come and go as I pleased.
You had to do the sneaking
through your window
when the lights went out.
There was a trailer
at the bottom of your property,
our little shelter from the world.

I remember eddies of cigar smoke
whirling in the mouth of an open cave.
We sat together at the entrance.
There was an easy tranquility
with a slightly skewed view.
You wished that we could stay forever,
but I was more concerned
with heading out anew.

You saw me change in many ways
and I wonder what that did to you.