Cracked

It rains.

Teardrops comb the dirt-path
With gypsy feet.
They leave moist footsteps of memory.

The flies knock softly at the doors, hover
With misunderstood voices and desperation
Fingernails painted with impatience swat them away.

The leaves enfold me in their hands
Their painted shade of endless fractals
A standstill requiem of yesterday.

I hang the letters of your name on a string
Plucked from my sleeve, and hold it to my voice
Let the wind carry it away, singing an echo.

The crack spreads across the window stealthily
Like bony fingers or curious lightning
It bites a thought from the past and runs

Forward, because it has nowhere else to go.
Everything else shatters, but it clasps courage
With bruised hands for eternity. It hurts, but

It would hurt more if I let myself
Go forth into the darkness, blinded and tied
By a veil of before and a rope of after.

I hang the letters of your name on a string
Plucked from my sleeve, and hold it to my voice
Blow it away with a tangle of emotions.

Nobody replies.

It rains.