even now
I wish
there were things
that you knew
of places I go
to wander the night
might you see
without sight
like ten thousand before
as spark to the empty –
a star beyond light

as a place
of beginning –
fields standing bare
with will for another
hurt to erase
the memory of ruin
is burdened by grief –
by prayers
never heard –
unspoken to grace

would nature
return
as the first
light was come –
without reason or want
for the falling into
a story awaiting
your hand at the pen
making truth of the darkness
what is seen –
what is knew

. . .