It was Moving Day. She attempted to fill the space in her white new apartment. Strange city, strange country. Even the air felt strange to her nostrils. When the last of the boxes were opened and when she had set up the last of the chinaware on the countertop, she was drained. She sat by the windowsill looking out at the bold blue sky violated by the stark red skyscrapers.
The void pained her. She remembered another lifetime. When, together, they had dreamt of Solomon’s vineyards.
Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field; let us lodge in the villages.
He had earnestly appealed to her. One dark night when they laid together on the floor, bodies fused together, fingers intertwined, his breath moist on her bare neck, he whispered these verses to her.
Let us get up early to the vineyards; let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape appear, and the pomegranates bud forth: there will I give thee my love.
He continued to quote Solomon. She laughed and kissed his cheek. He placed her palm over his heart. His quibbles and her promises. His riddles and her laughter. Their dreams and the life they wanted. But that seemed another lifetime ago. When, together, they dreamt of Solomon’s vineyards.
She continued to dream of the vineyards one lone night when the fog refused to let her see him go. The same lone night when the headlights refused to pierce through the winter air. The same lone night when the fog settled on those vineyards. And on his motorcycle’s path. She sang the songs of Solomon while he skidded past the sharp curves he didn’t see. And when the last heartbeat left his body, she sang unknown:
Return, return, O Solomon; return, return, that I may look upon thee.