for lack of words
longing fits
a favored pair
of mittens –
– essence born
of places I am known
for lack of faith
I swear I’ll do
whatever now is needed
– to run ahead
wherever time
is gone

were only this
the falling out –
and there
your need for talking
else silence
roll against me
in the dark
spirits shy
before the light
of evening on forever
words are lost
to wonder where
you are

. . .