by Jacqui Woodward-Smith

Cold autumn pavements carry mourning,
    your whispered voice drifts on the breeze,
  but I can't catch the words you send me,
    like dying leaves lost to the trees.

I stand like stone on this cold pavement,
      paralysed by all I feel,
  but Dark Rhiannon surges past me;
  Her dark-eyed challenge tinged with steel.

For I have been scarred by your passing,
     your story carved into my skin.
  Such beauty in the depths of leaving.
  Such fear to let these feelings in.

I dread these waves that tower above me,
      am threatened by the undertow,
  but know that I cannot outrun them
      and in their tides my healing sow.

This grief like horses drags me onward
  When I would rest and dream you whole.
  For I would die to journey with you,
    but grief's wild currents claim my soul.

And, if I dare, I will ride with them;
    allow this pain to wash me wild.
  Or I could stay on this cold pavement;
    deny the woman, stay the child.

So you will journey with your dying
    and I will journey with my grief.
  But we will touch on this cold pavement;
    love whispered in an autumn leaf.

©Jacqui Woodward-Smith
  (11th  September 2007 - 11th  August 2008)