the breeze just sent me
one of your memories --
the lavendar scent of a lilac

you'd tell me about them
on winter-white days
gazing out over the snow
your voice and your eyes
always went soft
as you remembered

being nine in the maine mountain home where the rich man's teenager       hung himself you used to look over the river below to the crowded town on the other side hidden from people surrounded by lilacs you were happy safe

you always trailed off
at the end of the memory
and sat beside me
lost in the past
watching a nine-year-old woman smile
on a mountain top in maine

you left my life too soon
for lilacs