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Poem

Alone  the bones of the room bear no weight 
of responsibility nor does it bare its breast of secrets

a broken pane provides a breath with a pang of lavender
a wistful inhale inhabits the lungs of this space
as the room tries to embrace   oh embrace  the breathing breeze
to squeeze a semblance of life into this place
but the breeze  a gypsy whisper-warm  needs freedom to come
and sweep sun-dust up into swirls of pinprick-stars... then go
not beholden to bones stoic and standing  nor to dust  
stranded midair  to fall in despair  abandoned 
with less a good-bye   as bygone laughter and lullabies
are held on lath-tongues behind horsehair plaster walls

but mute memories mingle in dust like fireflies in dusk;
her suckling coos   rocking chair nights   plashes of mud-puddle tears
—a colored canvas that minions of time would rather gesso white 

in its bones  the room remembers its worth as a womb 
nurturing a baby’s breath neath blue-skin-skies where rows of purple grow
till Mistral wind blew cold and flew her lavender soul far from home
oh the loss of life —wind-crashing-seas-onto-rocks— loss of life 

skeleton ribs of the crib stripped of her lavender sprig   loss of life

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