Sounds: alarm, or
the forest that burns
to a gentle wind,
a breath of your bygone age.
Stone, heavy,
though the winds will break it.
Release tears.
A rock.
Close connection
that brings grace to open space.
Were you never embraced?
My love, –
I see where you walked,
danced upon the ruins,
the wet ashes.
Trickling streams,
numbing melodies.
A heart, a sad little rhythm
that fades
with the ingredient of time.
A winter’s age,
one frozen, barren page
you lifted and turned.
You want me to remember you,
while I cannot undo you.
Modern Romanticism 