parse to the falling
– the taking
of dreams
‘cept for the one
I can’t understand
of winter come clean
in light
neath the pines
a shimmering moths
endeared by the snow

forgotten
the senusuous pull
of the flame
– and reason
the colors of pewter
and smoke
silken illusion
of places we loved
are folded by word
to the edges of night

parse to the falling
– the taking
of dreams

. . .