pages folded
spine to spine
your head upon my shoulder
where soft
the tangled spent
of words is kept
silent as my heart
reverbs…
to still the oldest current
of home to call us
deeper now
than bone

tears
a sweet assurance
of years beyond my own
ten thousand more
might dare I speak
and wonder
there your name
from creases
in becoming
where I was
before as now

pages drying
words –
a single sun

. . .