memory of a lover, lost

memory of a lover, lost

Is it time to start the final act?
The memories are stacked
like books too familiar to crack
but too beloved to sell.

Well, it has been awhile,
even though I recall your smile
and that shyness, taken for guile,
that stood between us like walls.

Fallen now, no doubts remain,
just time and distance and the refrain
of Neil Young on the radio, stirring pain
into the old hemlock cup I carry.

Merry with sorrow, saddened by pleasure
laid to rest in a lost coffin, treasure
to be discovered only in abstract measure
in words I speak with you in my heart, still.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.