I drank

soon, I'll forget you wholly.
your face is fading
away, very slowly.
all that remains of you

is your large fingerprint
in a smudge of black ink,
over wrinkled, soft words
you have never spoken,

an antique silver frame,
laid in blood stained glass
skirting a photograph
of denials’ spell, broken,

the waning calla lilies
under your empty chair,
diffused in a puddle
seeping into the floor.
　
your calm footprints of mud
smeared near the open chest,
a permanent dye of ash
pointing at a shut door.

all I resolve to do is
drink these images
like I drank my tears,
for heaps of years.


Helena Malheur © 2008