I thought I saw you once, reflecting in a clear glass window, plummeting in a thousand drops of rain, whispering under a weeping willow.
You were in the scorch of a sun and the pale of a moon, in a white curl of surf pitching up onto my toes, in the sting of my skin as I lay down to rest.
I thought I saw you once, inhaling the steam from a pot of simmering souls, gulping wine from a goblet of salty tears, thieving existence from someone’s trove of hidden treasure.
You were aching at the feet of those you’ve wronged, riddled with regret and pained by loss, wishing away what won’t be undone.
I thought I saw you once, but I never really saw you at all. Copyright © 2013 The Wrought Writer