Manuscript Contents

from unpublished manuscript
MEMORIES OF A JAZZ SINGER

MEMORY OF A LOVER

Time isn't always measured in moments.
It is sometimes measured through eyes
that capture the soul, tap on the heart;
measured through the flowered fields of Spring -
a single blade of grass pressing through the soil,
extracting drops of moisture
during a long, hot summer night.
Time's whispered pleasures are the
edges of a mountain lake, caught
in glittering rhythm,
in step with the beating of my heart.

I was measured by your touch,
by the way you made me feel.
Moonlight in a midnight garden.
A thousand years of joy and vision, defined
within a single moment in your arms.

And if time must fall, as do the leaves of Autumn
turning warm days into cool evening,
distilling the day's of Winter,
still my heart will beat
with the memory of your eyes
and our heated blood
singing in the Summer air.

© Michelle Maria Boleyn