poetry
keeps one more line
as folded bits of you
evidence
to graces
wearing through
cleaved apart my mystery –
held me until then
when last I knew
– once I’d be
again

guarded apprehension
solace works the same –
as years erased
were I
another flame –
sweat beneath the covers
wept aloud at times
for choices
gone the way
of useless rhyme

silently to wander
beyond the feel of light –
tis there
I hold my rest
and take my flight
beholding as to everything
some meaning
to discern –
how much of me
remains
for me to learn

. . .