I wake up sometimes, and notice
winds will never be the same,
always a spoken language we name
yet so often fallen out of practice.
Windows might shudder upon their toss
we go about a usual routine,
left thinking of love serene
yet true testament, in the now may be our loss.
I feel a certain disquiet as days near loom ahead
how might a life be led, an imagination
given allowance toward resignation
would that only our humanity know grief instead.
I stood in the forest on a day like today, so many day
for now I am blissful, nostalgic, I do want to remember
and yet I’ve been told I cannot, for now, to be sure
my life as it were is cumbersome to memory far away.
I wonder if across the avenues of our dreams we might release
such is the burden of knowing, losing, regaining some peace.
© Scott F Savage 5/2020