"Baby Roses and Gardening Tips For the Soul, I Still Grieve For You"
So many miles away now
yet still I contemplate the loss.
Sometimes living in regret is useful
and softens future assessments.
I try to hear the voices in-between.
Bright eyes
they do not decide my flight
my intended journey.
I comb the colors of your claims
decipher their uses
press on regardless.
I pruned the roses
because I heard them breathing.
I set their alarm
golden rules developed over time.
I looked out the window
noticed all the consequences
they lined the driveway.
I tried to focus on their dance
rather than their intension.
They lean sometimes too far
pull me apart in crowded rooms
of malcontents.
No matter how many layers
of well being
they often lie.
I always hear them whisper
after laughing.
Such nerve.
I pack up my paints
join the brigade
that only I can see now.
I chase after moons that rest.
You
coming out somewhere
leaning somewhere
somewhere from the grave.
I hear you...
Try to hear myself as well
Yes, I try.
And yet...
I grieve all the day
because your presence
chose to meet me.
Quiet roar.
I neglected to pave the way.
Who knew I would ever regret
bow my head
about the struggles outcome?
I pass the day
doing best I can.
I try to give honor
to stolen baby roses.
I should grow them here now.
Find their little souls.
I would have gathered them
long ago
saved their voices for my pleasure.
Too late?
So many miles away now.
I stood on the beach
and thought I heard you breathing.
3 February 2007
Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
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