The Persistence of…

The old days were once written in frosty breath
on my window,
but now they fade
leaving traces of
lost faces.
I draw the shades and
light splinters through
spilling onto my floor
lines and fragments.
I try to piece it back together
but for the first time
the murals of my memory have vanished.
What is–
never was
What was–
never more.

Lamentation

Today, I weep for a stranger,
who I watched from afar
like a jester in a tragedy.
I cry as I sing his final words:
a mere melodic hush followed by a sentiment.
He would scold my tears if they fell upon him,
but oh how I wish I could weep over him
and bear him new life in the calming shower of love.