. . .

Stay as I’ve wanted
to folded remembrance –
as an essence of perfume
I no longer wear.
Of far away places
I can’t seem to loosen –
their hold on my being
was written
somewhere.

As the day I was born –
the night of conception
when someone spoke softly
my name to the trees.
Flowers were open
as evermore waited –
the echoes of loving
my own to release.

As ripples of forest –
bursting with cedar
boxes lined up to the right
of the door.
Memories passed by the way
of the garden –
where golden white shutes
are planted once more.

Whispers of promise
and who I’d be someday
when all the rest failed –
I’d come round to home.
As wings breach the distance
e’en now in the darkness –
someone waits easy
the long night
alone.