In sporadic drifts, memories
flutter down, like skeletal leaves
in slow motion—fragile whispers torn
from the branches of yesterday.
Sometimes, your love-warm echoes
snuggle for a moment on my shoulder
before I tuck them gently
in a pocket of my mind.
But nights are infused
with the sodden weight of loss;
I pour my loneliness
across the threshold of dawn
and wait for your voice
to swim back to me.
Copyright © 2003 Laryalee Fraser • Used with permission • All rights reserved.