J. G. X. Borrege

Agnes Dead These Many Memories

-1-
Draw back the curtain of indifference
And stare
At all her ageless temple where gravestones life.
(Oh look!
Above a butterfly in wind
Flutters like a trembling hand
Writing a last will.
The flowers petals tear and scribble on the fast breeze.
Moonlight on stones glows like a cup of tears.)
Oh tell me
Why Agnes died,
And who grew aghast
At her sightless eyes.

-2-
A time she passed my way
Again and again,
And left no imprint on the solid land,
On rose, on the dancing daffodil.

Oh, ghost or seraphim
Of ...