Salt water ran down her cheeks
As she sat, cross legged,
On the rough bare floorboards,
Bowing to a blank wall
Of cracked plaster
And dirty white paint.

The leaves had left,
As leaves do,
And she was alone,
Under a cold Sun standing
Naked in a pale sky.

Outside the solitary window,
Bare branches were all that remained
Of a beautiful summer
Of sitting in the shade of a tree
Armed with ice cream
And a pencil
And blank paper,
All fresh and shiny
In the green leaf light.

Hidden from a cruel winter,
Shivering in her secret room,
She could hear it no more.

The hours seemed to last forever,
But they became days
Soon enough.
And reality seemed to pervade
These four old, forgotten walls.

And the floor,
Not polluted by carpet or furniture,
Took on the guise
Of an undulating desert,
Ripe for exploration
By one of patient mind.

Outside the window
Lay a monochrome wilderness,
A barren expanse of grey
Populated by the occasional corpse
Of a once proud, majestic tree.

Now the wooden hearts
No longer beat.
She was alone.

Though the leaves were destined
To return someday
She knew she would always be haunted
By the memory of the silhouette.
The naked fingers reaching
But never touching.

08/16/2001

Posted on 09/24/2001
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince