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.
I found your heart today, as I walked the shore.
The sun hung low in the early winter sky; it was waiting
for me, light cast through empty branches, subdued,
whispering to me to look among the sand and stones.
And I did, though I didn’t know why. I shuffled my feet
along golden shore, listening to the songs of shore birds,
as sun touched my neck tenderly, knowing what I would find.
I stumbled, felt a tear on my cheek, and, under my hand,
the coldest stone. I lifted it up and saw your heart.
Closing my eyes, I clasped it in my hand, but it did not warm,
and the sun left us alone on the sand. Having no use
for a heart of stone, I skipped it across the water,
a poignant mirror of sky.
Doors turn to stone.
Words sear skin.
Rock windows stand
where light once played.
Walls that let angry arrows through
become stone too.
No one gets in.
No one gets
out.
Pieces moving inside
stop.
I am only stone.
Talking to the Clouds 