, , , , , , , , , ,


when from these tired
bones is wrought
the last of misery
when all I know
is how I loved –
while breath
was gifted me

when from this place
stories are blown
to fill an eastern sky
will then my name
be spoke aloud
by strangers
passing by

when from my silence
words are cleft –
as secrets from a kiss
as ever –
still shall love remain
to fill each

. . .