Rumination
I walk again where quiet hours have been,
A garden dim with thoughts that will not sleep;
The wind remembers all that might have been,
And stirs the restless shadows I would keep.
There is no sound but memory’s soft refrain,
A silver echo trembling in the air;
Each moment lived returns to live again,
More fragile now, yet somehow more aware.
I hold a word you said—so light, so small—
It blooms and breaks a thousand times in me;
And in its breaking, I can hear the call
Of all the things we never let be free.
O heart, why turn these embers in the night,
And breathe them back to sorrow’s quiet flame?
The past is gone beyond the reach of sight,
Yet still it whispers softly, just the same.
If I could lay these circling thoughts to rest,
Like petals falling where no grief can grow,
I might at last find silence in my chest—
And learn the peace I do not yet quite know.
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