i sat with dreams and mated them with shadows

where sunlight flecked the grass and trickled thru

each swaying twig and branch of spruce and elder

adoringly, they somehow spoke of you.

i sat tense-eyed, my longing vision sensing,

an unseen, art-wise hand begin to trace.

with all love’s magic trickery displaying

to me; your hair, your pallid waiting face.

in all these voiceless years of night and grieving

above thy grave i grasp this gleam of grace.

perhaps sometime, where is no pain or parting

i’ll smile again into your waiting face.