were only these days –
the weight of our life
a moment
surrendered
to stone
dying denied
the sweetest caress
are names – nothing more
than a measure
of bone

as years
left behind –
find their way
to another
a breeze through the window
where perfume remains
of a place
we were gifted
by love to let go
shall lie in the fullness
of hearts (can we know)

how many
how precious
the blossoming seed
will thrive
in the shade
where talk is allowed –
as our story retold
with the slightest
regret

is essence recalled
by the soul
living yet

. . .