once again
and at that age
when poems came
were writ for none –
searched to cupboards
nearly bare
the river fell as harvest wore
pressed to meadows
dusty shelves
initials scratched
now worn away
came for me from places far
lighting branches
all the way

soft as skin
by silence cured
as lane to lane
my words removed
secrets scattered as before
and I to listen
from the grave
where lips are sealed
of every one

was not for me
the rhyme was learned
or for the prophet
come to seek
we are the last forgotten sands
came not for stone
their fire to keep
a lonely night without the past
pages whisper to the floor
voices rising from the dust
recall a bloom
I wore with lace

silver key
of leather charge
a house unnoticed by the wind
was not the book
I left behind
but somewhere else I meant to be
when at the age
I thought to leave
but knew not where
the path might go

who would miss me in the fall
who would love me
in the spring