Return

Twenty years

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

love.

Years asleep, I revisited our familiar meeting place

and

as assent prevailed, bright light was slowly overcome by

darkness,

I heard again,

the Echoes from the Belltower.