Maybe he flew away
On a new journey
Tattered wings
Still whispering life
Imprinted
With a single fleeting memory...
Even if he found his way
Into the yellowing pages
of a child's notebook
Years later
Someone might chance on it
And feel
the strange lingering memory
of a girl bent anxious
peering with her large eyes,
and wonder
at their own involuntary smile
like an unknown smell
suddenly familiar and warm.
[Reprinted with permission from a poetess friend.]
