unsung

Image by rihaij from Pixabay

perhaps you are a softness of
moonlight, sparkling off the bitter frost of
long, hollow years where you have not been,
where only your fragment remains

silence is the sound of your voice, unless —
i hear you laughing, don’t i? water tumbles merry
down wet stones while shaking
branches rattle before wind

your missing note leaves
echo and emptiness faint against the hillsides
no more are you woven among us,
small song, unsung