Departure

His wells ran deep behind the eyes.

Like mysteries denied, they

sparkled despite themselves.

Strangely familiar as though

we had once whirled together dancing

beneath a heavy pool of stars, like clusters

of mismatched glass which, in disarray,

reflect glimpses of hope in the passing.

We shattered then, and wonder now

how a sinking sense of sadness

had prepared departure’s bitter brew,

in which we steeped our anxious hearts.

Now, pacing the sorrow of footsteps traced,

slender moments sludge eternal,

swerving down the wretched sway,

as laughter erases her own animation,

one fine frame at a time.

Jennifer Burnside