I feel the wind tousle my hair, weaving
with minor tugs and eddys
in the particulars of autumn dirunals
It is a proof of life
.
Proved again in the emptiness,
that devoid flat where she could never be,
the space vacant of her green eyes,
or long gilded strands invoking images
of ancient soil, new blood spilled,
the floods and fears and creases in time
In reminiscences of her dwell affirmation,
this too is a proof of life
.
Somewhere in the mist we were broken
She, I to seperate, fading in an instant
that left my fingertips pulsing in the clammy chill,
balanced to the will of limbo, a proof of life