"if only..."

"If only..."

she dreams,

sighing from behind
the cloister of her
own reluctance....

a haunting wind
rattles a loose window in the
sill, and
black-knuckled branches of
a birch tree...

bark as white as her hair...

taps ab impatient finger
against the thin
pane of glass, holding the sun's
warmth,
almost at bay...

the sweet bird of
youth sings to her,
silently
through the glass,
a beguiling
song of
playful entreaty

"throw open wide
the casings,
catch a lilac's
whisper on this first breath of
late
winter into
spring...

but she, statue-like
in her reverie
stares out
through layers of February's
lingering
silt and
hums..

"if only i had..."

"if only he hadn't..."

"if only we were...."

her fingers pleat
folds into the
heavy drapes
of fading rose-hued velvet...

rustling free the dust motes
that
rain down
upon her distant wonderings

and she,

fascinated by their
sparkle...

the flotsam and jetsam of
yesterday thinking...

dances
in a pale pool of
dappled sunlight that has
stolen its way into her
shuttered world,

she dreams
that she is a
wood sprite...

waltzing,
leaping,
laughing
in the forest -
with her
Puck -
under a
sea of
stars
on a midsummer's night....

"if only...

if only..."

she
hums to herself,
as she
twirls her nightdress,
taking a few
light steps across
the sole-polished
pine floor
beneath her
bare feet....

she moves
like a girl

and then she
remembers...

"it was good,
it was all very sweet...
we were happy...
yes,"
she smiles,

"... just the way it was,
it was very good..."