She writes in blue

She approaches the quiet pool,
The sun at her back
casts her shadowed reflection
across its shiny still surface.

She kneels
with fingers outstretched.
She touches
with a single fingertip
and writes her story in ripples blue.

The silver surface is broken
into the collection of yesterdays
that make her who she is, today.
When taken Alone they're
too large to be seen,
yet too small to be missed.

The breath of the sky
gentle and warm
sets up patterns
on the surface.

I see the outline of her face,
lined beyond its years
by events too acid
not to etch trails
across its tender surface.

I watch, it is all I can do.
I doubt you have heard
my grandfatherly voice,
or felt my touch upon your hair.

But you have seen my shadow
gently flutter by
seeking a resting place
and landing upon on a branch.

I can't explain what drew me to you.
You shine like a diamond
resting softly on velvet blue
reflecting  rainbows from the sun.
You are impossible to miss

Unlike creek washed pebbles,
discarded by the hand
of a capricious child
that landed on the side of the path
haphazardly.

You were set gently
with love and care
upon the soft blue cushions
of your bed
by an artist.

Shining brightly you wait.
You become a signal
for the magic shoes
to find his feet and bring them
gently walking toward you.

It is not I alone
who sees your light.
There are those who would take
your brilliance and steal away
leaving only darkness.

Imposters with hands full of gold
with mouths full of love,
and minds full of hate.
Run my lovely friend, take heed.

They are looking diligently
for opportunity to take away
what is real and leave
only a worthless token
for a bus that runs to Nowhere.

In your life I cannot interfere.
I am not your judge
or even one who can tell you
by experience or education
what ought, or what ought not.

I fly in circles above your head
sometimes full of chatter and song,
sometimes as silent
as the cold gray rock
that lines the canyons of my mind.

I’d cry out, a warning,
but would the echoes
assure you with their sound
that you are safe and
you are not alone?

An echo is just a shadow copy
as empty as the hollow
of the bell hanging high
above my head.
It rings over the valley.

Is it God speaking,
or is it the knell of a lie?
Is it just an echo
broadcasting the failures
that bounce endlessly in my mind.

I am filled with unrelenting sadness.
When day is done
I wander in darkness
seeking proof that I did not waste
the gift that was today.