I

There was a path I took with you,  a journey through a house. There was your knock at the door… the stubborn lock, creaks in the floor… the smell of ashes on wet days in the narrow hall where we embraced. There were vases… side-of-the-road flowers, wild and abandoned… the sound of your footfall to the back of the house…  sidelong glances… touch of a hand. There was the trickle of a fountain through the window to the garden… softness to the light… dust motes in the sun.  The jays of summer squawked.  The finches of fall feasted on fading sunflowers. There was quiet, subtle laughter as if words could ever be enough.  There was the bed… gentle hills of pillows… sun-stained coverlet… winter coverlet, summer coverlet… ironed linens scented lavender. We were a garden growing from the bed… hands of flowers… legs, trunks of different trees… the scent of warm earth… The purple and blue blossoms of our moments. Sinking deeply into your essence, silent skin against silent skin, I thought… surely, now, my heart will break from beauty.

 

II

There was a path I took alone… twilight roads leading into the beauty of the night.
There were nights of the full moon. My feet cold and wet, I walked the quicksilver path on the sea… looked over my shoulder for my footprints… smiled when there were none. There was a speeding train through the night. At a siding, I stuck my head out of the compartment… The metallic taste of snowflakes on my tongue… the Siberian wind howling out of the north whipping against my face… content with the frozen thought. There were troubadours on hot, hot humid nights singing ancient songs so sweet tears stung the backs of my eyes.  There were nights of the crescent moon… the scent of cinnamon and orange flower water… the taste of honey and almonds… laughter in the narrow streets. There were travels through a valley the color of ochre and gray dust… my spirit ahead of me, carrying me along the crooked, weedy path and up a mountain. I picked the wild lavender… wove it into my hair… tucked jasmine blossoms next to the secret skin over my heart,  Longing for a blossom to root… my heart transformed, a jasmine vine. Stars came out… they considered me. On tiptoe I reached to touch them. Sometimes they reached back and touched me. I flickered… grew bright with luminescence… became the softness of the summer night.

 

III

There was a path I took with you.
There was a path I took alone.