Photo by Olivia D Bryant
Breaching the summit of the hill of hopes,
I begin the descent to the valley.
A lone, shadowy figure
wafts in and out of a creamy white mist,
draped in a somber linen cloak,
and appearing to float just beyond
the twisting reeds and unruly grasses
that guard this secluded pond.
"Apparition of the shallows,
turn thy face that I might behold."
Hesitation grips me.
Such sorrow is divulged
within the depths of his gaze.
An eternity of reminiscence
saturates my soul
like a soaking summer rain.
Gasping for breath,
I grasp at nonsensical conclusions
as time pulses out loud.
A blur of teal dragonfly wings
couples mid-air with the perfume
of freshly bloomed honeysuckle,
heightening my unannounced euphoria.
washes over me straightaway.
Gingerly I ask
why he has lingered nigh,
enslaved by such sadness.
"Because", he offers,
"I was certain your memories
of yesteryear had flown."
© 2014 Tina Jordan, All Rights Reserved