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As of late, I’ve felt the gentle pull of time, tender reminders that the road before isn’t quite as long as the one behind.

Twilight cools on an old porch, as the sun fades. Violets soften in the shadows, lavender etched by lace.

Breath is stilled by the assurance of the stars, a look back to where they shine, unaccustomed to the wish not yet made.

gather me sweetly
as a name first rehearsed
a line
unwritten to rhyme
verse and there
to places
where grace
is held apart –
beneath my pillow
o the night

. . .