Relics Of Love

the moon took away the memory
of you
the wind conceals the secrets
your shadow dissolves in the
days of my life
the river constantly murmurs
about what happens to the forest
jewels

my hands are closed
they do not open to the water
the rain is no exemption
to this hiding

but then the blankets and the pillows
where the locks of your hair are homed
still whisper your name

in the crevices of artful rocks
your face is carved

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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