Blackened lace
and a silent beauty's face,
followed crimson and hot pink.
The heat, seeming but a blink,
was the summer this year,
the colors, clothing blurred by a tear.
The only one burned was me.
Heart-ashes stir silently,
and carefully I watch them
reform again,
throbbing into happy life,
new and unhurt by strife.
This time I won't drive her away
(I learned my lesson another day).
I won't stare,
but will care,
will never hate,
no matter the wait,
holding on with invisible fingers
as long as this feeling lingers.
Which seems forever!

September 5, 1985