Poem, Day 18

Are those stars I see,
or am I just lost in memories?
Your face,
upturned,
once looked lost in them
as their illumination
illuminated all the solutions to the worlds’ problems.
Once dew danced on untucked wisps of hair
left forgotten in the waltz
of solar systems.
Sunlight paled
when you stepped on the sidewalk,
accompanied by your purse
full of piano keys
and petals from tulips,
leaving trails
so the cats would follow you home.

But your fingers have turned brittle
and the keys in your purse
go untended.
The cats call out
their mourning cry
as the sun burns the blinds.
But the stars only shine
when you sing to them,
and the rain only falls
when you ask it to while you
will only paint portraits
of tragic Grecian heroines
with dew in their hair.