Wanderings

For i do not want

what you can buy 

with the trade of coin

nay

bring for me if you will

the sands 

from your wanderings

where you felt me slip from your fingers

bring me shells

from beaches 

where you heard the waves speak in my voice

bring driftwood

from where you drifted away

ferried by my thoughts

and others looked upon your 

absent smiles askance

bring for me 

the sound of the lute

that plaintively sung to you

of my absence 

to leach the colors 

that lay splashed before you

or trilled happily

coloring the grey of sea and sky

with the vibrancy of my memories.

bring me the colors of wild flowers

in petal or leaf

plucked thoughtlessly

and secreted in your coat pockets

unthinkingly

only to fall out 

with your handkerchief

onto my open palm

an offering of love

no coin can ever buy..