It disappeared without a trace
as suddenly as it came
the night that the porcelain vase
shattered in the game of blame.

Somewhere in the amorphous flow of time
it once cascaded upon two beating hearts
when the spring wind blew the chime
and the flowers grew their graceful parts.

The lover’s heart is an ocean
blue and filled with salty waves
reflecting the implied notion
that it can waver in the darkest of caves.

Under the crepuscular glow of the Milky Way’s pearl
nothing was left that night except the cawing of the merle.

 

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