​Here we are
at another artificial
division,
arbitrary distinction,
in the flow’s design.
An abstraction we experience
linearly
punctuated by episodic
circumstances
playing themselves out
over time.
Some,
heartbreakingly painful,
such as loves lost,
others, utterly sublime.
Scenes of simple wonders
that are painted on
the canvas of my mind.
Like a flock of birds
startled into flight,
lifting off
into the purpling
evening sky.
Dark flecks arranged 
with mathematical precision
each knowing its place
on the wing.
Their presence embellishing,
defining,
the breathtaking
beauty of the thing.
I see your afterimage
there on the bench
in the grotto.
With curtains of hydrangea,
draping from the pergola,
falling about your crown.
Your barefeet, with toe rings,
flat on the ground.
The stellar shine 
of your diamond smile.
The sparkle of your
eyes, a soft jade.
I hear that silly laugh
you made.
Feel the cool of your skin
when I took your hand…
and I miss you,
understand?
These are the ghosts
of bright memories,
occlusions in otherwise
flawless stones,
I turn left and right
to catch the light
in the cyclical darknesses,
when I find myself
alone.
At the beginning
of the end,
the shedding,
wiping dry,
of another tear.
Another lifetime.
Another year.

M. Zane McClellan

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All rights reserved

The Daily Post prompt: Year

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