Fly home

These are not tears

Not sorrow’s salty trails

No testament of age nor laughter frail

No steely pupils pierce no frozen mask

No silent screams, no ecstasies unasked

I will not crawl where once I walked

Along the now bleak scarp of my imaginings

Nor fan the flickering embers

Of stolen kisses half remembered

Nor raise my eyes to meet your pleading gaze

I will not trip or stumble on the mountain’s narrow path

Nor slip in your soft footprints far ahead

Nor stand rain-matted, shivering on the ledge above the scree

Nor scratch with faltering hand “In dreams I fly”

Over ravens’ raucous babble, did I hear your distant call?

Echoing among the hillside pines and brush

I will not gorge on grief for those days when I flew

You knew me once but not as I knew you