my love he went down to the watershed. he has gone there to let the boats float across the glittering surface in the evening sun. his eyes burn with tears of what has passed and of what they will miss as life flows by. spirits appear from among the waves and they take his hand. he resists not but goes willingly.
malicious spirits these who turn him to stone. breathe a different kind of life into him.
they lie him down on a bed of roses. skin falls off him, slips down in sheets of yellowish grey. still i see the shapes of a life we once dreamed. they fall to the floor. all there is left is the bed, billowing cushions so inviting. for one fine sunday morning with the sun that is returning for the ones who see things fall. who wait until they rise again.