Traces of a diluted former joy, form a pattern across her face.
I can see it, I recognise it in my own face after-all.

Her pale blue eyes glance at me and then skirt away, silently
with a look that says 'bite'.
'Powerful Crystalline orbs of light',
- from lady of the lighthouse.  

Yet;
Curled up in spiral spaces, away from the movement of bustling outside.
She sits, attentive, alert, upon her spiral staircase.

Lighthouse stacked with books, her sensitivity marked within surface of page and pen.
She sends out beacons. She reads, She writes, She saves. She cares,
Actually.

Her soul comes rooted from the rings of trees and can be glimpsed
on silent nights to those who have the eyes to see;
Noble, wise, Scholarly, Strong, kind.
Absence-  'Melancholy Tree'
currently lacking roots?

Now: To pale blue eyes, I say this is where it hurts, and I'm sorry, truly.

Absence is: Room reverberating with loss, memories of a time gone past,
an excavated minute. A man who meant the Earth to her, 'More than that' she whispers quietly from the dream, the spiral staircase, the lighthouse where she still sits shuddering, cold, lonely, still, still.
Sending out beacons, never letting others in.

Her eyes are strong, focused, attentive, she sees each detail yet still she
misses moments of magic, when our two worlds collapse inwards,
glimpsing a zenlike nothing and everything at once.

Getting lost in that mystery, the cloak of trees, reverberating.

The deep breeze, the ground beneath our feet.

The air, the sea, the wind, the trees.
Freedom, maybe.

Through winds that blow here, now,
Love of the world which chose to bring her in whispers quietly -

Your Future Now:
Peace for pale blue eyes,
No more skirting in concrete corridors of mind.

These are my desires for you -
Resolution - Breathe, Live.

A tactile unfolding.
New Year. New You.