Yellowed Woulds

 
 
Memories beckon

. . .

irresistible paths

lined with vibrant flowers

leading

deeper

 deeper

  deeper
 
 
into would-have’s

groves,

light shut out

by sudden canopy

and irreversible parting, both
 
 
–the sacred, tainted

the banal, sacred–
 
 
should-have brambles

thick with thorns

(birds, too)

that could have been carefully clipped

(an imperative missed)

send me careening off

gunshot cliff

every time
 
 
killing me

over and over

splintering heart pieces

already shattered
 
 
unable to remember us

–the life shared—

even just the

> littlest bit <

without

falling into the abyss expanding within
 
 
–that forested grey real estate

–those memories of you

–these Now Woulds
 
 
stippled with

should-have swamps

sudden drops

and could-have coins

pitched

–to wishing

(washing)

hell–
 
 
no fountain of youth

–nor hope springs

–nor holy water

to revive

dying blooms

(deprived of light)

just

morass,

thicket

and bluff
 
 
–at

divergent path’s end

(in Yellowed Woulds)