All glimpses.
Each fold in the bedsheets
cradles me, closer.
Wind me back,
throughout the knots,
the confusions
in time.
You slipped within
the hourglass.
Your sands created these footprints,
were foundations for
fragile bridges.
Watered eyes,
growing gardens,
a weed torn from its roots.
There are still-life depictions
in the canvases of old art.
You left the road for me to deny.
Your arrival was a wasted petal
broken from the stigma.
Simple words, fallen testimony
that surrounds the seas
in tearful memories.
Keep your eyes wandering
through these puddles.
Keep staring at golden roads,
least journeyed.
Night can forgive you
in the advancing eclipse.
Modern Romanticism 