The same words raced back across the valley
in the twilight, soaking into a mellow moon-
my voice from across the way mimicked me
as though mocking.

Eight year old ears tried to make sense
of this phenomenon- eyes searched the wind
to discover reality of mystery.
Time vibrates the gold star from Sunday School.

From across the space of ageless autumns
I chase the echoes that gently soothe my soul-
the seasons bow in somber solace of respect
and give the gift of words unknown.

Leaves falling mute through dark demise
return no rhythm to the palate of my ear.
Where is this poetic lover that bounces
on tiptoes and eludes me once again?

In endless annals of eternal space
I stretch an open hand and catch the wing
of gliding grammar racing back across the valley of time
before it hides in mellow moon that smiles.