A tactile basin sunken deep
beneath the mountain’s ridge caress
left a space like naked wilderness;
a place for memories to keep.
~ ~ ~
Though the brilliant sunlight beamed,
no crocus swelled beneath the snow.
No splendid greening grass would grow,
although the moonlight’s sheen then gleamed.
~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~
And sorrow’s grey lies down to weep,
for night has crawled across the field.
No comfort will this evening yield,
no gentleness to help me sleep.
~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~


(After major breast surgery, which, incidentally, proved me NOT to have cancer.)