Swallowed Words

Your room remains cheerful, even thought it’s empty
Looking over my conscious shoulder expecting
You’re not here but I still sense your presence
White sage sits on an abalone shell billowing

My words are being swallowed and held at bay
Matted green shag carpet muffles my footfalls
Rain begins to tap on my windowed “Pains”
Her last smudging lingers from the egg shell walls

Glimpsing from the corner of my eye tears
Not fast enough to hide her flowing train
Going out; tuxedo now hanging heavily
My dress shirt clinging; soaking up the rain

The white sage cleans us individuality
Blowing softly; sparkling our kindling’s fire
Setting ceremonies and dark skies aside
Shared memories start at the white sage’s pyre

© 2012 Michael Yost 07/12