To look within a frame of what may be

is to look at the twilight and marvel

for what lies beyond an infinity.

 

Can you claim to fathom, anything more

then hope and a dream of a world remote?

Have you seen with waking eyes morrow’s lore?

 

Reveal to me then, with foresight so bold

since torn is thee: veil of uncertainty,

how will you frame a story yet untold?

 

Between the borders of a dark canvas

dare you judge a stroke or artist’s vision

Without first conceding, one’s own madness.

 

I have no desire to stab in the dark

and my piddling plans are of lesser worth

against the unknown’s many moving parts.

 

But curiosity is ever strong

when paths are vague and somber hearts sing low,

“What will become of my soul?” A sad song.

 

If I could capture with a single shot

all the good I pray lies before me yet

wonder bears a vision of a chance plot:

 

A dreamed portrait of a familiar face

with wisdom and memories traced with care

by a life of laughter and gifts of grace.

 

A figment she remains, like a riddle

Unsolved, till the tides of time clear grey skies.

still, there is warmth in a past rekindled

 

For the only vision, I have not feigned

is of one I knew, peering: vain to find,

who she may be on this side of the frame.