those days come again
where life is tattered,
ripped apart and stitched back
into gilt frames of faces
all too familiar
to a past i am letting go
the memories are dead to me,
locked surprisingly into bone
as if spurred on by the broken,
achingly real even in twilight
of the distant recollections
but then there is always one,
it's never old; aged yellow
or even faded
one that speaks- still
the words we stumbled to reach,
found them, hanging like vines
clinging to each other
and searching for the flowers,
the ones they used to contain
in my silence,
pockets of a room,
the view of you
silhouetted on a wall
in visible outlines i knew so well
i traced the reminders,
lines as fine as fishing wire
intricate details paled like lace
caught in a smile, a glance
or harsh times
we viewed the battlements together
crumbling the walls with ardent endeavor,
fighting a good fight you said
when all we wanted was a final collapse
into our arms-
the friendly fire
and now the citadel is here
beside my bed
the color hasn't changed
rather enhanced, or perhaps that is my perception
as sunlight hits it in all the glory
of how we spent an autumn
before leaves turned red
the elderly couple we met
reminded us how photographs looked
when all that mattered was
love
Adding your comment:
Honestly, you write things I wish I would have thought of. I remember once you posting a piece that said you just post your stuff, and hardly ever edit. It amazes me that they turn out this wonderful, when you dont' even work at it. 
Brilliant lady, you. 