visiting the past poems

as bones dry
tears irrigate landscapes
blushed cheeks,
running creeks
of mascara blues

dark shadows oversee
graveyards of feelings
and epitaphs of irony
form words on stone monuments to the dead
fantasies
of forever intended “i do’s”

i walk through this silent storm
during partially moonlit nights
and think of you, and you and you
and find no words
to etch into my stone-cold memory
for you or you or you

three shadows follow me along the walk
and my hand draped limply at my side
no ghosts i want to hold onto
just gnarled fingers of pain disfigured
dreams

as bones dry
as bones dry

i cry to no one in particular
and then gather my tears like ashes in an urn

and toss them over my shoulder

moving on
thankful for that minuscule slit of moonlight
that stuck around for the finale.