they warned me once
of dying –
before my time was come
of children
without mothers –
polished stone

of storms
were passed
before my birth –
carved into my canyons
a story
not yet over
til I say

tis luxury
in heartache –
precious scars
worth bleeding for –
a blessing come
for writing
in the dark

I’ve buried want
for reason –
broke the bed
and cut my hair –
gave favor
to the love
that had no home

pages bending over
lest I read them more
and more –
forsaken by
their meaning
to pretend

summer sweat
and winter rye –
some may say they knew
of vows I took
repenting –
for lifetimes passed
too soon

they warned me once
of dying –

. . .