came the words
unwanted
for lives were not my own
and ears were pricked awake
by thunderstorms
lightning flashed
as dragonflies
were swept into the black
and somewhere
promise melted
to a sigh
with no one left to tell
just how the story started
of how it felt to know
the past was gone –
better now remembering
years forgiven years
jars of age old harvest
hands beneath the page
winter blows against
this house
and I am (soon) reminded
of lips that would not move
without my pen
awaiting now
another story starting
with ears to pry
yesterday to speak