writing on a blank wall

stillness chills the grief
but cannot bend the marrow
flowers will still bloom
when you stare out of your window
the massive crocusses sway
akin to the hips of a buxom dancer in a bar
a flower child of bygone era 
now rotting in secret of her mind clatter
when did the colors fade
when did you invade
perhaps, I made a mistake,
perhaps I have forgotten
another day, another place
might set an even pace

I will find my empty hand,
 filled with jagged time, 
(an impossibility you say;
no, not for me, not for me)