And I'm alone in the ruins of the jungle.
The probing grasp of vining plants
twists questions out of dirt
and threads together disparate trees
whose trunks are full of centuries.
The ancient pyramids herald the sky
as darkened clouds return.
I do not fear the coming rain.

The rainfall used to be consoling,
like I'd hear the rhythm of your voice,
the cadence of your metered step,
inside the pit-pat play around my head.
Now there's only atonal dissonance
although I've seen the muses dance
to the static between my ears,
and I've seen the nymphs run wild
through forgotten foliage of time.

I don't know where else to look, love.
I think I've finally lost your track.