Drear behind, sunshine ahead
Fleet are the feet of Poe.
Emma drops down the hem of her gown
Her stems curl up beneath her
Her face to the skies, filling her eyes
Warm and wet, they glow.
Closer- near, Poe can almost hear her sighs
His worry lends strength to his hurry and
Away he flies, he flies!
Pale and fading, Emma goes wading
in a pool between here and there.
Welcoming mists wrap ‘round her wrists
as a breeze teases her hair.
Arriving too late, Poe clutches the gown by the lake,
both hopelessly empty.
Hearing a sound, he spins around—
her face beseeching, arms reaching, pulling him in and down.
Senses fill and burst, entwined they wind from one to another
No sooner born than lost, PoEmma wisps away.