Revival

Revival

Your birthday in May, such happy month, 

breeding apple blossoms

out of the dried brown branches, mixing

sleep and awakening, stirring

tangled roots with spring sun rays.

Winter kept us warm, covering earth

in thoughtless snow, sheltering

dried lives of bulbs and tubers.

Summer grew different, rising

over a light-blue sky in misty strips

with showers of rain as added surprises.

We stopped underneath bridges, 

and walked on in sunlight, drank coffee

under the arcades and never tired talking

of Rilke’s symbolism and his fight with his demons.

And up we went to the hills, there you could breathe

and the view from above eased your world vision.

What are those memories that clutch like old roots

to the ivy of pain, submerged partly

yet still climbing out of dead bracken?

You only can guess some of the broken

images, the dead tree that shows you disdain 

waving skeletal branches with bony hands-

Underneath rocks, no water, only shadows 

around the dried riverbed. Come to me out of

the mist of years gone, with that devastating 

smile of yours, those eyes shining with old energies- 

I will tell you all what has been unsaid, in a burst

of light, in a heavy sound of wind to swirl up

that dust of so many decades.