The shadow of your cape
would twirl
past my window
as you crunch through the gravel,
hurrying to meet your lover . . .
where we were
enfolded in the dirt of youth,
flower children watching for adventure,
full of expectations
and quickened desires
a ship has sailed
at the brink of dawn
and sundered in the dead of night
she disappears with out a whisper
a ghost, an after image
of a bright light that yet lingers
what is memory,
but that which
we cannot let go,
like treasure stored up
in the dragon's lair,
a cave so dark,
yet for this faint shimmer
pressed against
the burning heart
of that great winged serpent
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