There is little to see or do here now

But descend dark littered paths past

Bare flower beds, the pond more green

Than the grass, trees not yet budding.

Near a fountain empty but for leaves

A stone statue of an ageless woman

Who lives now in a timeless gesture.

One arm is held out in front of her,

The palm of her hand cupped open

As though she once held something

And let it go, waiting for it to return.

Only I now who remembers her name.

A little light leaning on her shoulders,

Or perhaps she is leaning on the light,

And the hem of her robe is flared

As though the wind keeps lifting it,

Her face fading into the lines of care

Of a life lived longing in one place,

Features weary, softening, changing

Into something more fragile and real

Than stone.  I want to take her hand

And sing to her she is still beautiful;

To have her believe after all these years

I've learned to love without looking back.