Infinite By: V.C. McCabe
Her liquid heart is a colored pool
icing over on a frozen path
slowly solidifying, a murky mirror
soon to shatter beneath his feet.
There is no lullaby she could sing
to make the pieces dance
back together. So she turns
her back on the past. It blurs
like a drunken memory.
The pain melts off the canvas
in watercolor rivers.
She looks to the horizon
the golden hues of hope
bubble gum sky twinkling
with possibilities of
healing, of possibility.
She packs her thermos, hot
coffee steam curling, foggy
windows blocking the view
behind: His disapproving pose
sinks into shadow.
vcmccabe.com 