Water.

It bled out, it folded,
it fell
they clamored over the wreckage
to where it was at the edge of the well
from where he’d been drawing from her water
for longer than anyone knew
their laughter an echo behind her
they laughed the way school girls do
and still she wandered and wondered
at what might yet remain
her breath traced the edges of verses
and each one was his name
like the trailing of ribbons in slipstream
a murmuring heart skipping beats
the whispers of rumors on breezes
the echo through cavernous streets
through memories of mazes at twilight
through dreams of Paris at midnight and into long days
like petals pulled from the flowers
of lovers’ counting ways
her breath traced the edges of verses
and each one was his name
though she carried it with her in silence
though she never spoke it again.  

 ~ Teri Skultety
2:10 a.m., 12/29/2015

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