in the cool dense
where sunlight spreads
across my winter bed
words are left
to whispers on the night
memories
and all that was
before the same again
names so rarely spoken
– now a sigh

of once upon a spring
bouquet
we knew before we knew
as shadows cast
by honeysuckle vine
hands to fit
where heros lay –
promise feels the same
as one to love
held in place
divine

. . .