caught me
from swaying
beneath a new sky
– hemmingway hands
took me home
fell to my musing
the laughter of flutes –
an instrument
tied from still broken
strings

listen
I pleaded –
hear me unsaid
as the passing
of ten thousand birds
thru the still
the tremor of longing
forgotten our ways –
as a path
born of will
to go on

prophet
and heron
crickets made song
of a darkness defined
 by the passing
of time –
morning held back
by the leaving
(don’t go)
and music let out
by a sigh

. . .