april morning
striped clouds of white
and oh
how your memory comes
back on this chilly day,
more than in the still pictures,
bent with time -
more vivid than in deep dreams -

the essence of you,
walking in the alleywats of early dawn,
with glimmers of sun's lightness
highlighting your hair -
the scents and sounds of our city street
of grand old houses converted to smaller residences -
the scent and sound of the time
and of you -

was it the music from our era
that triggered the flashbacks ?
a buried sense of feeling for the
time of you and me and being
fancy free -
of juniper in songs and hauntingly
poetic lyrics -
of spices and guitar strings and
Indian blouses and insences
swirling into other decades -

and alas, your shadow too,
turns around
the bend,
and swirls
beyond the greystone mansion,
that no longer exists -
beyond the large rooms of blossoms
and stacks of books and canvases
that have dried and perhaps
were sold at a bazaar -
that vanished
into the depths of time's passeges -

then it was no more-
the elusive fragrance of the time -

the day became another
back to my april morning -

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Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

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