She moves through grey mounds
Of gusting clouds, pushing
Through doubt and confusion,
Sipping on the drizzles of faded light,
She balances herself, strolling through
An uneven, cracked dry path,
Nothing but a wasteland
That stretches, over the boundless,
Dusky raggedy dress
Reflective, of her world
Seen seamlessly through her eyes,
Along her path, she finds color
Growing out, from the dead soil,
A cluster of roses rises
From the nothing of the deprived,
She bows down, to sink
In the sight of this spurting fairy tale,
She threads one of the roses
And it melts the prosaic,
Streaming away from her,
Now, with a spark in her eye
And the rose in her hair.
****
He waters the same spot
Everyday, at the exact time
He lost everything,
Before that moment, the world
Had a different bounce,
The sky, expansive and wondrous,
Before that moment, he never knew
A splinter of pain,
But within that moment
He was flooded,
In a crash of light upon
What is now, the eternal dessert,
He waters the spot
She was taken away,
He grows for her,
He continues to change back
What was ripped away from him.