The mottled leaves of memories descend
from nervous forests in her trembling mind
as if a sleeping winter might awake
before her world should wholly resurrect.

Then withered minutes slip from listing limbs:
a birthday missed, an anniversary,
the January calendar unchanged,
a mislaid face, some misplaced name or year.

Old foliage ignores the anxious sun
since dismal winds convince each brittle branch
to hold no moment closely or too long
now shadows spread and all turns silhouette.

But then she smiles, reviving life with light,
and hope may spring eternal one more night.