Anchored in the past

 

Off to the left, a trick

Perhaps of defective light, 

A hovering cloud, gray

But black inside, glowing

As coal might with fire

In its center.  A breeze,

A rose and it took flight.

It grasped at its

Possibilities.  My mind

Flailed, like a boat at anchor.

So many memories from one

Day to the next.  She 

Began in my thoughts

To crumble.  Her vivacity

Left her finally,

Leaving just 

A frail cloud

With tendrils 

Reaching back 

For one with too

Much substance to follow.