A Lingering Touch
Grass grows tall
in paths we used to walk,
Fading hopes,
hungry for redemption,
linger like accidental
incidents of two souls
touching.
Winter lasts longer
every year. Sometimes
the cold seems unbearable,
but as the music dwindles,
I slip into the solitude
of dreams, and settle
softly
into that time
our fingers touched.
Fate or Chance
A pagan land,
this land of mist,
when the gray mind dawdles
in fancy dress of dreams.Some will dub it dancing,
or game of chance,
that calls each to his mate
with heart afire
and new hope born ablazing.I think it’s fate
that guides our feet
and upends reasoning.
Terpsichore
visits only rarely,
and yet,When she walks in,
we know the steps.
