Bittersweet Nostalgia - Claire Hanson

Shadows waltzed across the barren scape

beneath thrashing pink clouds.

The open space was lost in vulnerability

and the forgotten freedom of entrapment.

I wondered if the clouds would spring back

            like soft piles of moss.

You told me you missed the way things were.

You asked me if I loved you.

                                    I said nothing

Knowing the limits of my words

would only bring limits to my honesty.

I saw the fractals in your eyes, and listened

to the wind earn its name.

Those moments with you were A-minor,

the spoiled honey of the sun –

and your words,

chubby fingers of a child,

held the silent potential of frets on a guitar.