Lament for a dance

There was a time
when your heart danced to my strings
and my heart yours.

As the dances became
predictable and regular,
we said we wanted
a dance that was jarring,
a song that was beautifully haunting,
a painting with no patterns.

In love, we said,
we would walk lonely paths,
seeking
such dances with new hearts,
such songs with new voices,
such paintings with new canvases.

Though these new expressions and pulls
are rewards unto them,
some fair mornings, I miss your smell waking up
(I remember resting my wishes
on your soft shoulders as we lay),
and some inviting evenings,
I miss the light caressing
the angles of your face
(I remember losing myself in the mystery
the sodium light created around you).

In between new searches
for new dances,
I remember the ones with you
with a quiet smile
and a mournful heart.

--

For Fern.