subtext

I think I am finally free,

and then, there you are,

as if you were never gone,

a presence returned,

pervasive, yet just

out of sight, always

shifting, like wolves

near  the wood’s edge,

before I can flinch.

Memory’s  mosaics

maintain integrity only

within my silent life:

speak to me, and I shatter

with the fragility of glass

searing a moonlit sky;

as once, long before we met,

fireflies rose in a mountain field

shimmering a cool Vermont night.