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Description
remembrance
___________________________________________

Those
bubble trails
spheres of prisoned light and air
whisked along in a flurry of leaves
plucked by the wind from the old grey tree.

It seems to me that they reflect
every nuance of our childish laughter
every whisper of those sunset evenings
outside the hall, after meetings.
Sometimes, there was rain in the air
and the old tree's roots were decked in gold
tiny blossoms beaten from its branches
like damp bright stars on the black tar road.
And your face
in the warm orange glow of lowering dusk
when we were
outside the hall
after meetings.
that was
before I loved you
or was it?
did I
begin to love you then
as we teased and argued
over words and arcane things?

Rose-tinged memories
and twilight meetings
droplets of crystallised time are passing
trapped in those thin bubble trails
beneath the old grey tree.

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volantis, August 2003