Mnemosyne

At a compact steel bureau in the corner of an empty warehouse,
Through the clashing aluminum blinds, I witness a glorious sunset.
A ray of light reflects off the nose cone of a taxiing jet.

At a defunct amusement park on a clear autumn day, I spy the same jet
cruising over a field of blue – solitary, silent. The blue is the acrylic blue
She used for winter skies in her paintings that line the walls of the big house.

At the pond’s edge, I can make out his face. The darkness of dusk dredges
our bodies, our fishing rods, and our tackle, until only our souls glow,
bearing into the past memories of glory, memories of solitude.