WOMAN IN THE MIRROR
What happened to seventeen,
when I rode my mare
free as the river flows,
jumped over downed trees
splashed through narrow streams?
What happened to twenty
when I danced in the moonlight,
my slender form dressed in a gown
white and shimmery as pearl?
What happened to thirty
when I rode my Yamaha
down fire roads, mountain trails,
long black hair flying free?
What happened to those days
I ask the woman in the mirror.
Gone, she says, all gone, unless
you remember it.
In The Dark
Lying in bed, my cheek against your shoulder,
I remember a night, long ago, on your boat.
I was afraid. I felt too much, too fast.
But love crept over us that summer
like silver fog, silent on the lake.
We were never again the same.
We stepped like children through that door that led
to long passages unknown, holding hands, wide-eyed, but brave.
Here I am years later, listening to your soft breath
and feeling your warm smooth skin.
In the dark, now might as well be then.