Grey as a Seagull’s Wings

I’d sift the years clean
before a wave of time could
ever break me like a fragile
piece of china again, cast me
into a future grey as a seagull’s
wings, my life left torn as
puckered autumn leaves,
my spirit pale as the wind.
I’d live where no one could
ever find me, where grief
could never touch me, and
I hungered for the scent of
sun-warmed grass, a gentle
dream. In the yesteryears
of long ago my heart died
before the sun could ever
set or the sweet smell of
a rose ever reach me.
I’d love it if a kind nurse
would patch my soul and
news of warm dawns
would replace the winter.
I’d live in the uninterrupted
silence of my home, cherish
drowsy afternoons, let my
dreams rise like balloons.