'Life and the world and mine ownself
are changed, for a dream's sake.'
- Christina Rossetti
It was not a death per se -
but still the destruction of a dream,
like a wetted, celestial finger and thumb
had pinched a candle's wick
and smoke rises, blue-black,
bruising the pallid skin of a winter's sky.
There was mourning over the ashes.
There were tears shed for a future slain.
So, yes - maybe there has been a death.
People approached me with their stale expressions,
cradled my hands in their cold palms -
told me I am in their thoughts.
And, like a widow, I am lost. Bewildered.
I find myself wandering these lonely woods
where fallen leaves print memories in the snow
and tree branches write messages against the sky,
'This is what you wanted. This is what you got.'
Suddenly, I glimpse a shadow -
a splash of blue on white. A familiar stranger
appears on the horizon; my dream - but not the same.
The eyes are brighter - the face is changed!
After one backward glance it vanishes...
but leaves behind a trail of footprints,
signalling me to follow.
I know now - my dream never died,
only chose a new direction.