kept to these pieces
of coming back
going
living and dying the rest to define
one more get busy
and lived I
to tell it –
how strange seems the pattern
of meaning to find

the ends
of beginning –
for ways undiscovered
questions revealing
the answers to more
ways as were destined
to sleep the night
waiting
with boots by the table –
and back to the door

and knew not of love
kept me from leaving
as pieces broke off
a handle – a key
lines through the linen
threads of another
as once I was given
this time to foresee

as notes
to the margins –
words underlined
bled through forever
to find us again
to wonder of reasons
and names now forsaken
words without marker –
reminders of when

the past lay unbroken
as blue satin slippers –
worn down the path
I cleared long ago
where now
the night sits
at the edge of my wonder –
warmed by the memory
of light on my soul