Left Behind (revisited)

He found her heart sitting upon a bench in Golden Gate Park.
Where the one before him had left it.
When he first saw it sitting there
it was hardly recognizable.
Somewhat tattered,
its edges caught up in the breeze coming off San Francisco Bay
for a moment it seemed her heart would soar away,
a kite with nothing left to celebrate.
As he drew closer he saw through the dust and neglect,
he saw the beauty hidden beneath the pain.
Within his chest he could feel his own heart
crying out with primeval sorrow
at the damage done to this unique and fragile flower.
Upon reaching the bench
he discovered that her heart was trembling,
crying tears of what might have been.
He longed to reach out
but he was afraid that her heart in this state
would turn to ash
that the ashes would dance with the wind
only to be scattered upon the rocks of Alcatraz.
So, removing the bandages protecting his own damaged heart
he offered them to her.
Gently he with tender loving care
wrapped her heart and placed it in her weary hands.
Smiling, she softly kissed his, own still fragile heart.
And as she disappeared into the fog
she left but one word behind,
"maybe".

January 10th is the one year anniversery of Murmur's birth. A big thank you to everyone who has ever left behind their footprints or peaked through the window for a moment to see what was going on. Every visit long or short is appreciated.

Today through Monday I decided to revisit my four personal favorites from the past year. Todays repeat Left Behind oringinally appeared 2/29/04. It first appeared as an essay of sorts but I chose to repost it as a poem.