To my window she comes
There's not much time
Tell me your secrets and and I'll carry them with me
Sprinkle them.on the wooden path, on top of your footprints
On good days, I sit at my window.
Open my broken mind, fish out my memories
And speak
Two by two in song, they drink my words and sing
I'm dying, but my body will go on functioning in this world
In the midnight hours, I busy myself
Boxing up memories, bitter and sweet
Rereading books and poems that contain words for stirring emotion
Saying prayers with the hopes of finally getting the meditation right
Once done, I close the box on my life and bury it
Underneath the bottle tree my husband made from the wine we drank
Before the last pile of dirt was out back in place
I beg and pray that I remember one Word, just one