our hopes and dreams that died?
the charcoal floor and ink-drop skies
The child a light that never lit
but no eraser can erase it
for its place, behind a face,
across a damsel’s neck;
Lux Aeterna I’ll never forget.
She was a make believe child for us
a surrogate child, I thought it’d be,
another miserable orphan like me,
perchance a real child, with
the listless friend miss make believe
The world was but a wall between us
halfway across the world
I knew some other type of man
had found the only girl
the only girl who understood
who left me in the dark, who would
allow me to learn for myself.
The light of Lux has darkened now,
and left the once fair-flowers, how
met by chance but yet through fate
the connection of a life so intricate
a life with patterns as the seams
moods that idle as the leaves
of August at the end of spring
where sublime angels walk my dreams.
They tell me of a world where there,
Lux is a girl with golden hair,
her father’s eyes and mother’s cheeks.
The vibrant child looked right at me.
You’ll never see me in your life,
a dream too fast to catch.
The face, appeal, intellectual zeal
Perfect for a wannabe
who could not be the slightest reel
a reel of clapping birthday parties,
letters in the mail.
And one from me,
a book colored white.
And I remembered then the night,
I clipped a strand for my fair hair
and sent it out to Cali, where
it wound up in a box of dreams
a box long crushed and lost
When first I heard about the loss,
of the elegant box and strands of hair.
Into the woods behind the house,
I stole away to find the plot,
where had been buried my dear box.
I dug about the cornfields where
I found no luck in the soil, no where
until the thought arose:
The reason for the outfit
is more important than the clothes.
The hair in the box the long frayed lock
sent across the land
For why it went, from the hart it was sent,
two people saying alive you
in gestures with their hands.