Ashes

the ashes of my wish
soft as the skin of your
painted arm
summer revisits mockingly
breezy ankles tell tales of regret
confused
i stand, petrified
perhaps as smooth and beautiful as an ancient tree
an anachronism from the day before
time becomes meaningless when the
light fades from your eyes
once emerald, now moss
covering the crimson shout of my wound
folding dark into myself

(c) 2001 Jennifer K. Mulcahy