Vultures circle overhead.

These hands tremble, jolted again
by aftershock of your absence,

My wide eyes burned by beauty fierce
of life’s last supper, feast of pain.

Dark road twists from green into green.
Poisoned by the ache of empty,
I fall fast to my knees and drink
tears from the cup of my own hands.

A lone lark sings to me of spring.
I dream of summer, yesteryear.

Awake again, I remember
when truth caught in my throat tunneled
straight through my heart and bore a hole
through your eyes to infinity.

And the empty is all there is
but love blooming in jasmine eyes –
sacred symbol of hope restored,
fragile, like Easter lily days.

So should my way be marked by thorns,
I hold to single rose of trust.
Would you accept it as the gift
of grace it long has been to me?

Hands trembling, eyes brimming with pain,
you are less alone than you think.

Walk with me in silence. There is
no need for explanation now.

Vultures circle overhead.