Cobble stones break away
from austere quiet pavements
soon enough the faint echoes
of receding footsteps won’t remain
fallen leaves tremble in askance
in hope and in vain
but do copper sands remember
the musks of bygone rains?
In slender volumes of poetry
Dry petals of once cherished orchids
Wilt again in the knowledge that
Forgotten words often forget
The ethers gently laced within
The lines of someone’s fervent emotion
And the crinkles of sepia tinted pages
are all that mark the journey
of true tears across a dusky cheek
Amid random thoughts,
a lost moment’s question glints
like nagari’s silver anklet
broken, never lost, never missed
if I held you hand
if I was possessed in yours
when did our fingers let go?