Poem-workshop me

After a Winter Requiem

    Now I'm certain I saw the dog, wrapped up in the blind cord again,
perhaps sliding a nervous tail, and hiding it behind the girl's cool-aide
  covered legs. The dog sniffed, never digging that the girl was sulking.

               Yet, I noticed, yes, I smelled the potato-chip breath lingering,

      My gray hat grew blue from needing a new brim, by that time. 
                              Glancing back, I saw white gloves become stone lilies 
                                                              through honey combed blinded light,
Isn't that right?

                  There was, no doubt those particular blinds had 
completely transformed my translucent porcelain girl's tears

                                                                   into a celestial smile.

   The bronzed mirror behind the window, it was still there.

              It framed her lovely sleeping hair. She went again
my golden lock, perhaps to the basement to find the lost 
kite.

               Some year, before the requiem, after that winter, 
  she was thinking, spring, of warm windy days, of hiding. 
      Her hopes of lemonade stands, of honeysuckle shields,
                       of daisies picked from earth given to father.
That day, leaving the stoop, I closed 
         my car door. Inside, all, silences
                  were and still are, amidst us. 
           I whispered it again
to 'grant her Azure's sleep', 
       her lovely hair's peace.