her voice rings out like a banshee call
through the hills
of unyielding memory.
she calls my name in silky cries
that wrap my body, squeezing tight
like the hugs she used to give
and i feel my lungs collapsing
from the weight
of the ways i failed her.

“I done messed up,” she tells me
and that’s the last i hear
before her voice is drowned
in unquenchable tears
etching canyons of sorrow in the flesh
that so violently was torn apart
like the dreams we once shared.

now even the stars grow dim
and the shining snow encircles the globe
in a sheet of sorrowful white turning grey,
for her pen has fallen silent
and no one else on earth
can write beauty in these scenes
like that magnificent enchantress of verse.