Years have passed since you left here.

Remnants of meaning, colors of you
remain in my life and change me
day by passing day.

See, there – the palest lavender,
a soft, safe place to fall into,
like the trace of a feather floating
zephyr-like through my life.
Elusive you are, but when you
brush up against me, as you do
still in memory, as you did
this morning when I fell
asleep beneath the full sun, I melt
into your light, playful spirit and
merge with remembered lilac joy
and laughter. And I am a growing thing
again. Sometimes in dreams, I morph
into deep purple passion like I did
sitting across the long table from you,
gazing toward the home I miss,
found first and last reflected
in your eyes.

But you were also a tangerine sun,
vibrant, succulent, alive with possibility
and, the way I choose to remember you,
infused with hope you gave away
like orange balloons, helium-filled.
My feet tap to the music you were
and my heart demands I dance free
as if you are who once you were to me.
So I plant geraniums and breathe deep
of spring air, daring this gypsy soul
to take me where it will. Funny,
how it chooses to traipse barefoot
through wildflower fields that seem
more like tomorrow than yesterday.
Lost in the moment, I find you
waiting there.