Photography by Imogen Cunningham

even as
white roses
fill
the room
with their
sweeping
summer scent,
they
cannot
compare
with the
fragments
of you
left
upon
my pillow.

yellow aspens huddle,
a family cluster
tucked in alpine grace.
they are not alone
in this world
as you are
laying on a mossy bed
held within their arms.
a crown of leaves
and branches dance
across a sailor’s sky,
their song touches
your lonely soul
and carries you away
to places even I
may not tread.

Between blues skies
and tangerines
frogs sing in trees
children swim naked
in dark waters
the smell of green
fills your lungs
life, rich and hopeful.

Light vibrates
through the foliage
dancing on
the forest floor
to shimmer
across the body
of a lover’s embrace
like a silent
movie kiss.

The heat rises
in misty wetness
obscuring the
farthest recesses
of this jungle’s
memory
where sleeping
magic waits
your return
from hunger.

“Return to me,
come, come…”
is the call.

– Previously Published