Her golden curls
fall
in soft spirals
over the meadow,
textures that grip my imagination
and tug at my heart
I see her form reclining
along the edge of fall leaves,
in the gold and red of the meadow.
She prepares a feast.
A fascination of fungi,
the beautiful,
the beautiful,
the exotic
the elegant
and the delicious.
and the delicious.
Haunted
Her memory tugs
at my heart
like a trout not yet free.
Even among
my favorite things,
I hear her voice
among the ferns.
Surrounded by her
favorite green,
I am only then
distracted
from
her memory.
jsc
