What might have been
Don’t wonder what might have been.
Unfurl the years like an antique silk parachute
It may still shimmer like the gossamer of your dreams
But don’t test if it can hold you.
Fragrant curls of holy smoke
May transport with Proustian fervor
Deep rapture the shock of memory stirs
As the Madeleine dissolves in your tea.
Look back and feel the crystals form
As you stand outside the ruin of your life.
Cry enough tears of grief
And you turn into a pillar of salt.
As far as the vermillion horizon stretches
Your eyes will burn in vain for dawn.
What will be is as lost to now
As what might have been.
© Stacie Ferrante
3-2-09
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