living run over with angels
and pictures –
lacey white lace all around
souvenirs tumble from half hidden drawers
and shelves are bowed low
with the weight of my life

places and people –
(though some are gone missing)
last night I waited
their souls by the door

lights burn beyond me
above this sweet presence
and all that is left
my treasures to hold
some say forever
are lost their reminders
but I carry them with me
wherever I go –

a tattoo of love
makes no room for sorrow
and sometimes in mirrors I see
her eyes in reflections
of grandaddy’s creases –
his hands when I reach
now to touch

my laughter an echo
inheritance dances –
and I sleep just the same
as she does
of the best (every one)
the worst but a shadow –
and I pay no rent to that place

might lifetimes become
in the blink of existing –
and all that is left
forgotten my name –
but for traces of something
they can’t quite imagine

and a picture still standing
with angels in lace