When I last saw you,
your eyes were golden.
Puzzles I couldn't piece together,
a lake that shot back my own reflection,
not letting me see the deepness of you.

When I last saw you,
your hands were oak trees
hiding roots that dropped to the pit of the earth,
holding your meditations delicately close to you,
careful not to show
your great glimmering ships
carrying blue and low songs,
weeping dirges for a winter Sunday,
a red Grief that wakes you in your sleep,
adding the slight storm I see in your smile.

When I last saw you,
your eyes were golden.