UNSOLVED: Euology Requiem Lament Dirge Elegy — Any Analogy for Her Memory

 The soil where you stood is still too warm, a

 sunspot etched in the cold ceramic floor.

 I tend the space, though I know it won't reform the shape that I remember from before.

They gave me seeds to plant, a dull & common strain— white lilies, straight, for grace and measured height. 

But in my sleeve,

 I hold one that's profane, a bloom of mauve and bronze against the light.

It clings and vines, a color they don't know, across the neighbor's high and watchful wall. 

It cannot be mine ; I just let it grow, its roots reaching for the shadow of your shawl.

When the others ask, I speak of common things: of rain, and sun, and predictable springs.

II. 

The house is silent now that you're gone. 

Just a few empty hooks where your old coat would hang.

 I trace the dust line where your vanity stood and find a faint, clean print of my own hand beside a smudge of yours.

The truth is, through your window, I still look up at night,

 though the telescope is cold,

 and wonder if the light from a dead sun ever reaches back.

III.

I kept your light, though the shore was yours to leave. 

A beacon fueled by oil you wouldn't give. 

My vigil was the glass, the brass, the heave 

Of turning gears to make the ocean live.

The night you left, the mechanism choked; 

A vital spring, perhaps, just snapped in two.

 And now I tend a darkness I invoked, 

A vast, cold mirror of the sky and you.

The tourists come and ask for histories,

 They trace the keeper's name—I give them mine. 

But the tower holds a secret, just for me: 

The wick still burns, but not for passing sign.

I polish the cold lens; the light's within. 

A private glow against the rising brine.

written by Zoe