Stowaway

Eventide holds my gypsy soul captive
with a promise of velvet obscurity.
My restless spirit cries out, for I seek
that which cannot be. A fallow garden
lies before my unadorned feet and in my fatuity,
hopelessness seeps through my soles.

My lament is swept into an easterly wind
'neath the wailing song of coyote
where my despondent tears
become rapture of innamorato.
I am a woman of shadow,
impassioned catastrophe, stowaway
in the blue heart of my soldier.  

Hope lies quiescent within a shallow grave
and a weeping threnody is
my only offering. Perhaps one day
it will flourish as my saliferous cantata
has long been forgotten.