Poem: The Lament of Isis; 14 Pieces of You

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You are gone.

I cut my hair;

“forest of dreams”

you once called it.

Now a rough field of stubble

barely covers my scalp.

My basket is heavy

with  14 pieces of you,

once scattered to the wind.

I gathered them

and said my prayers,

but you did not rise

whole again with the sun.

There is magic in tears

but not enough in mine

to conjure anything

but gossamer memories;

A whiff of viburnum,

the ghost of your laugh,

faint piano, minor keys,

shades of twilight,

dust of long dried flowers,

your summer burnished shoulders,

a midwinter fog…

The things I try to capture

slip through my fingers like water

and I know

you are gone.

 

* Crossposted from my primary blog:  http://oursalon.ning.com/profiles/blogs/poem-the-lament-of-isis-14-pieces-of-you

 

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