in morning rainbows, she is memory
like a piccolo fluttering high and tenuous
but ever hopeful.
i have always kept
hope, as pandora did, sealed
within a fragile pithos,
praying that i would
never let it
drop.
but my fingers have held true
by some unknowable grace
i have not shattered
the ancient clay, nor ripped
the fraying lace tying
our wrists together.
now i approach,
humble as radish roots,
smiling like a supernova
finally set free
si je la revois