No one really knows the face
behind the garden gates, but
she smiles when the sun holds
her gaze. Eyes of ancient wonder
sing notes of blue upon the garden.
And when the leaves of fall crown her
gold, she holds it like it’s the last
she’ll ever know. Colors die,
cold creeps in, fades her into stone.
The flowers and sun betray her light.
She becomes invisible again.
Talking to the Clouds 