Kensington Gardens.

i was walking in the park one night

wondering what in this wide world was missing

that hole in the midst of the fabric of my being

where to find the spark that binds these fibers

wandering over these beaten trails

scattering gravel and shadows as i go

thinking over what could be gone

when i heard the weeping

small catches of breath and the sobs

that slide scratchily from the soul

turning aside i searched for the mourner

to see what this sorrow was

i came behind her

from a long way i could see her

in her white dress  that swung with the wind

and i felt that this is someone

i knew when young much younger

but now she is grown

the wind threw her voice to me

oh Peter have you have forgotten?

you have forgotten.

Peter, Peter

look how you stand so still and stone..

and something was tugging at me

a strand of a thought

at my mind some disconnect

between her bare feet and the cold ground

she was standing

some scant inches above the frozen soil

and she was sobbing saying

Peter oh Peter

you have forgotten.

How can you be so cold 

so hard to touch, to turn?

i have waited and wondered

waiting for you to return to me.

Peter, Peter. have you forgotten me?

and she stumbled and sank to the frozen ground 

her white dress crumbling around the icy blades of grass

i ran to see with that voice

so strange so familiar still ringing

in my ears again and again

till reaching her i realized

that this salt streaked face i knew

and i called out girl...girl why are you crying?

she turned

Peter? OH PETER.

i caught her several feet above the ground

and we spun through the winter air

a happy thought

a touch of pixie dust

and you my love

i had not forgotten how to fly

i had forgotten how to find you