of autumn grain
and counted sheets –
lines where lines aren’t buried
and roads to stretch between
the who we were

stories told
I hear them still
and wonder to their lessons –
fairytales rewritten
by the wise

of yesterdays
to put away –
folded soft and sorted
laid upon the shelf
and three feet high

surely none
will find it there
amid the joy and sorrows
flour sacks
and candles almost gone

seasons melted
somewhere else –
and not for I the changing
would break the bed
or take the curtains down

rake the pines
of all they knew
before the frost was tempted
to give of leave
my everything
so true

slow the breeze
beneath the chimes
skirt of april showers –
where dandelions
lie of each embrace

calamine
and turned away
before the window opened
to call my name –
where echoes
I remain