Some time had passed,
and she felt beneath her chin
a pool where tears had gathered
at the end of their streams.
Together. Still.
No longer flowing,
never falling,
simply there, defying gravity.

To say good-morning,
and to really mean it.
To say good day,
and feel it, too.
These are the things
I wish for myself,
but more so,
I wish for you.

Young woman.
Older girl?
The faint smell
of Ferris wheels swirl
your life upside down

Fleeting minds do not stray,
no,
instead, they lead the way.

She dancingly sways,
a tree, grown old,
draped in amber, in gold.

And while the wind wracks,
her skirt holds tight
until she deems fit,
losing her gown to Jack's
choice linens of white.

Now standing,
bare, taut skin,
a woody skeleton.

ethereal tones droning,
harmonious wings flap
harpooning the heart
into soprano skies.

My mind is a gray, churning sky,
hovering mist, fog.