Wandering Thoughts #6

On where love goes when it’s gone —

when every flower made him think of you,
you were the nexus of each passing thought;
but there’s no kind of universe or spot
wherein that love has any life at all

the dew is on the rose, and then it’s gone:
the dew, the rose, and e’en its memory —
but frame of reference is a hostelry
with views that change
depending on
the hall

Wandering Thoughts #5

On reconstructing a life —

the trail of clues
is there for me
to figure out
just who you were —

but anything
that i might think –
it has hied by
in such a blur

that i find i’m
in such a state
as never was
to be a sleuth

of days gone by
and memories
of songs unsung
and wasted
truth