IRREPLACEABLE HEART OF GOLD
He ran her through his memories,
like a needle and thread through
invisible silk, gathering each
visceral moment he'd spent with her,
piecing days and weeks to months
and years, a tapestry of a well-
lived life unfolding at his feet,
her face beaming out from the
center point, his yearning for
her morphed into yards of
indestructible edging,
holding his every longing
within its framework.
Once, she had been the only
warmth he had sought. She was his blanket,
covering him with softness, binding herself
close to him, bringing the heat and the dreams
of long legs, of curves that threw him off balance
as he hurried to reach her, of lips
that blew warm breezes, carrying him
upon their pleasurable tilt.
But then, Life's winter came, attacking
their blooming with its frigid breath,
sucking their passion from each pore,
spinning them into glazed flakes, ripping
them one from the other, until they
were merely shards of bitterness. He
watched her melt into disease-riddled
puddles rippling with his tears. Then
she was gone, and he morphed into
the walking dead.
In the chill, dark days following at his heels,
he wrapped his emptiness in the threaded
thoughts of her, for it was all he had left, this
memory woven tapestry. He went in search of her
tender heart. Slowly, the Earth claimed him
as well, letting him reappear now and again.
At times, high overhead, he swims the night air
as a fleet falcon, watching from on high, then
becomes the plaintive cry of the
Loon, echoing across the miles.
Many times he is the wolf's howl, and at others
he is the sob of the croaking toad. If you
listen, on a quiet summer's night,
as you walk through the silent woods,
you will hear him, calling for her. And on that
star-filled night, as you stand beneath the tall pines,
you will see them, locked in embrace,
their passions burning a trail across
the ebony dark, their laughter
making the breeze ruffle your hair.