daylight spawns
as butter blooms
unnoticed by the snow
gold and silver sashes
wrap the day
reminding me (I’m certain)
of others I have known
a taste of smoke
the smell of fresh cut hay
in late September
sometimes into the night
another beat is come
history repeated
turns upon itself anew
a blanket pulled across
forgotten dawns

beyond this set
another told
of places not yet seen
a want for understanding
wakes the dreamer
(to the dream)
in search of proof
of hearts held close –
a sense of other lives
choice before this choosing
as destiny survived
to lure us back
(a thought away)
and there –
we love again
caught in realms
of truth (and smoke)
before this path
began

. . .