To live a life in a day
the difference is plain
there’s no doing it again.
A flight within the 4th-dimension
no squirming weasel words for you
just a graceful flutter and decline
on a wing and a prayer.
No absence of synesthesia here.
just a mingling of the finest bouquet
with the deepest regret in a minor chord display.
The tug at your heart and the tear at your chest
just flower after flower, the nectar is zest
“O! I wish I could turn words into wishes.
O! I wish my days would fall into line”
This evening is heavy, rain has gone,
days’ and nights’ penumbras shine on 
as you flutter past, my window, it’s your last
swan song,
a weeping dance
for you to me
a rose for all eternity;
sweet white flowers above the path
rain drops cling to petals,
mists in the garden hide
whispered absences of you,
softly seeping nuances of you,
echoes of you
in this end of days in Palo Alto,
with heavy music in the air,
this stretching of reality,
and you, no longer there.
Shadowing the shadows
your muscle — remembered flight,
in this fading autumn light,
your wings crisp and falling
now memories flare in the living air,
with you no longer there,
there’s oblivion in the air.

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