Writing – lilies, sparrows and grass

We Almost Came Back

We Almost Came Back

we almost came back
to the place where we parted
perhaps to say
we never meant
to say goodbye—

on an island ferry
I saw your face
arise from a sea
of nameless faces
and you saw mine

I sat on the brown cot,
notebook on my lap
the ferry’s horn
blasted through the cabin
as we started to move

the sun sat low on the horizon
pink and orange light
shimmered
across the wooden deck
as I wrote—

I heard footsteps from afar
you walked towards me
wearing the green shirt,
the blue jeans I knew
my legs,
they could not move

you stopped midway,
twenty steps from where I was,
leaned across the railing
and just stood there

our eyes met
then you looked away,
your hands gripped hard,
jaws tightened,
Spanish eyes peered
into the distance,
where the sea turned
darker,
deeper

I waited for you
to come closer
perhaps
you waited for me

I sat where I was—
a nearby radio played
a song we knew
when the music ended
you walked away.

the ferry reached the dark island
faint lights from other vessels
flickered upon the pier
my hands felt numb
as I grasped the gangplank ropes—

I turned my face
towards the gathering
monsoon wind

—D. G. Vachal ©2026

Image by Harrydona @pixabay

Twilight and the Scent of Honeysuckle

Stepping outside this evening, I was unexpectedly greeted by the lingering fragrance of honeysuckle climbing through the lilacs. The garden, at the end of May, seemed briefly suspended between bloom and fading.

Twilight and the Scent of Honeysuckle

twilight—
the scent of honeysuckle
fills the lavender air,
lilacs and dogwoods
sing their last notes
of song—

twilight—
the scent of white peonies
intoxicates,
while yellow and purple irises
are at the tip of bloom,
and day lilies
await to explode
in tangerine madness—

twilight—
at the end of May
in my garden
suspended
between blossom
and fading

China Blue

Some poems come back to us differently over time. China Blue began in memory and longing, but also carries quieter inheritances—of Spain, of family, and of journeys that stretch farther back than I once understood. When my father brought his children and grandchildren to Spain, it felt less like travel than return. And somewhere behind the blue of memory lingers an older story still.

China Blue

China blue in my veins
throbs
with Valencia orange groves
sways
with weeping willows
beside the bamboo-lined
waters—

El Greco blue
lines my heart-valves
pulsates
with nightingale songs
dances
with crimson chrysanthemums
under the autumn sun—

Where the sun rises
I greet the dwindling sunset
speak the dialect
of disparate vernaculars—

China blue in my veins
and the orange groves.

Unexpected Rain

Unexpected Rain

I straddle behind you
on the motorcycle
the sun tans our faces,
your back rests content
with my steady warmth —

we wander
through little known byways
where roads are rough
and vines overgrow their bounds,
and we meander with butterflies
across meadows of wildflowers

then suddenly
the sky breaks open,
pours rain by the buckets,
as wind and water pelt our faces
and little streams
flood our pathways —

I close my eyes,
hold you close,
in a little while
you bring us to a tavern
decked with rain-soaked
begonias:
we step inside,
into laughter and song.

Polonaise in A-Flat Major, Op. 53

Polonaise in A-Flat Major, Op. 53

The last gold of evening
lingered
upon the piano keys
after the music
had already ended—

I come back to the old piano
my mother used to play
her etudes and concertos,
the ivory keys
yellowed by time—

suddenly I hear
the ecstatic pounding
of Chopin’s Polonaise
in A-Flat Major—

my mother’s hands
striking the old piano
long after evening
had darkened

D. G. Vachal © 2026

Accompanying image created with AI assistance

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