While Pondering the Iris of His Eyes

I read the last line
of someone else’s poem—
So let him go.

I understand love is trauma.

Deep into the null night
the vacant heart lets down its rain song.
I float whispers of him away, in whispers
of him, I float away.

Poor and without stars, I am.
In blue shadows, by memory
I understand; not every flower opens.

Copyright © 2006 Dorothy Doyle Mienko • Selection from Tryst Issue XVI • All rights reserved.
Artwork: “Ruth” by Loui Jover, 2016.