by Lee Yertzell
Thoughts after encounter with an old flame.
|From me, the observer, to you, the brown-eyed girl.
They are not brown. They are
The setting sun washing over me
Through pools of amber. They are
Shards of a stained-glass mosaic
plucked from the center of where
I find inspiration. They are
Polished-brass portals through which
I step through.
And on the other side, Life seems
Less unbearable; the future,
Less uncertain; My anxieties and fears,
Less of a burden. My longing for you,
Less of a memory.
More of a presence.