Gossamer
Now

She drifts
In the gardens
Of the Alhambra
In the dark.

Lions,
Stone faced,
Immovable,
Watch her.

The myrtles
Rustle
As she peers
At her reflection,
Now faceless,
Silver
In the moonlight
Of the quiet pool.

She sings a song
Of flowing waters
In the minor key
Of midnight,
Passes through
Alabaster colonnades
Travels empty corridors.

At last,
A place of beauty
Without human form.

She gathers
Stars
To light her way
To a deserted carmen.
Over the wall
She slips
Secretly.

She remembers
Cups of jasmine tea,
The steam of the perfumed blossoms
Warming her face,
The sweetness of tiny oranges,
The joy of rosy lady apples
Upon a painted plate.

With the breeze,
She stirs
Dried petals
That she gathered,
Takes with her down a walkway
Of cypress
The fragrance
Of damask roses,
Bergamot.

She is at peace
Without her human form.

Gossamer
Now,

She drifts
With the silver moon
At midnight.

~~For Laura, because Louise was and Laura is.