of quiet travel transcended by
blowing winds traversing through poignant canyons
as short tidbits have been telegraphed to a wayward star.
Forgotten is your flowing hair
like the distant sunset in the West.
Echoes of laughter, arguments
cloaked in naive
Years asleep, I revisited our familiar meeting place
as assent prevailed, bright light was slowly overcome by
I heard again,
the Echoes from the Belltower.