Wilted Lilies
Wilted lilies mourn
like Summer breezes
at Winter's edge
low and silent
She left too soon
the embers of her hair
not ready to extinguish
and the milk of her skin
unsoured
A poppet, childlike
her laughter still rings
in my shattered heart
hauntingly sweet
Tears on old polaroids
cannot wash her presence away-
cannot drench this stolen dream
and, I am left with unfulfilled promises
and wilted lilies
They, like me,
are left with nothing to do
but sing gaelic runes
of Ambrosias eyes












20 old applause
