Thursday, September 18, 2003


she has almost recovered her balance after the push into uncertainty; she has almost retrieved a precarious peace after the treachery of broken promises.
rising and meeting, accepting and overcoming: these are artistries born of necessity.
she slides the locket from the chain, and the picture from the frame.
she tucks her perfect memories deep into an unconvinced - but imperative - oblivion, and lets the beloved slip away.


  1. Out of every several hundred tears, no less than a few are shed for you. You say so much in so little and it both breaks and bolsters my far-removed heart in turns.

  2. Me so too, Lynn. Me so too.
    As Yeats says "For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart".