I miss the curls
Of the slender boy
Who lied to me
With boundless joy it seemed,
And dreamed a seahorse
Full of hope
That carried us to Wales
To spy on Dylan's ghost
Beneath the drifting ship of sky
With clouds for sails
And rocky shores for rope.

If all else fails,
Let's keep the lie alive until
It's true.

We wore those days
Like charms around our necks,
And dragged those nights out
In a wedding bed of starry laughter
And abandon,
Youth our only bride,
Drunk on wonder,
Sometimes silly,
Always side by side.

I'm burying the hatchet on Fern Hill,
And hoping that there's still
A shred of something
Left between us:
Something lovely
That I overlooked,
And did not kill.

. . .

copyright 2000, Linford Detweiler