Unforgotten 2003

She had a country spirit, green with horses and streams. We stayed up late looking at stars, holding hands like sisters and sleeping innocence.

He had hair the color of autumn, the spirit of a boy, adventurous and free, but the eyes of sorrow. He fell to dark places like sanctuaries that melted with the spring, and touched profound.

I found her entranced by the wood beams of a barn. She was the first and only I ever drew, with her long hair spilling over. She held the sun in her smile and a kiss as gentle as rain. I lost her during a storm, my voice echoing off bricks. I still hear it.

We hid in tall grasses to watch the deer pass by, the sun setting. He had chesnut-wood eyes, hands for piano, and legs curved like a bow. I walked away wearing his burgundy shirt and cried for three days.

She had a boy cut and the hair of sand. She had an eye for mischief and honesty. We danced to bad music and gossiped as pros. She is a memory of wishes.

I never met him, but he had black-river hair, and left silken thread where he went. His name is a haunted story from my partner's lips, becoming fainter. One day he will be a peace.

I remember them all, like brush strokes on a chiaroscuro painting, droplets of wine to tribute.