from the north country

she brought me maple syrup
from afar,
from up north
across the border.
just a pint of brown maple
syrup.
it was years ago.
her name
was jane.
she used to ride her horse
along the ocean,
racing
in the sand.
she used to sing in
the choir
at the cathedral.
she had a voice like
an angel,
but it wasn't meant
to be.
it wasn't me.
I still have the small
amber bottle
on the shelf,
never used and think
of her from time to time.