I can no longer tell you

I made some sketches of the mountains last week

The Front range with its dark blue arrogance 

I'll keep them for a while, but likely will toss them before anyone sees them 

I heard some new music on the trip home

Folk music,  old jazz,   a mix of things I cannot even describe

there is probably some way I could send clips to friends, but I won't 

One afternoon I spent two hours in a book store

small circles in and around tall wooden shelves

I got dizzy, but it was a good dizzy 

I'll describe it to someone

the next time I get asked about my trip west

  when I feel like it matters 

What I would give

for one more day, of you

napping in the afternoon

on a sweltering summer day, of you

finding a blue jay feather

while I cut the grass, of you

sitting in the shade, clipping

forsythia into short pieces

behind you, your rock garden

and sundial, overgrown,

tunneled with tiny red ants

your yellow blooming perennials dead

I can no longer kiss you

goodnight, good morning, or goodbye

for the day

nor point to clouds crossing the sun,

bringing blessed rain,

or hold your old hand when

thunderclaps frighten you.

Brevity Quest 2016 93

I never could
I never did

I am the princess hidden inside

guarded by the witch the doctor the scientist
no moat nor dragon nor miles deep forest with thorns like swords

the castle is open to the sea
and I stand on the battlements hoping
you will sail in, dock and come to me

and ask, because I will answer

but you dock and load supplies
smile and laugh and tell more lies

and sail out again
you will come back

it is still my castle

but I give up
entailed
I return to the sea

BQ 103