Sun Catcher

To the one
who used to catch the sun
with the tips
of her fingers: her lips
like the moon,
a crescent. As a tune
of unfathomable memories
breathes through the trees
so does my yearning heart desire
to see her dance by the fire.
Oh, sweet pure love
have you left me forever? Like a dove
with a stem of hope in its beak
has now gone. That thing with feathers speaks
of nothing but days gone by
without the notice of my eye.
“Too late”, says the one
who used to catch the sun,
and kisses me goodbye.

“As a tune of unfathomable memories breathes through the trees…”