how many seasons
have passed while I lay sleeping
dreaming of the sun

this time of sorrow
is more than tears – a river
to unremember

surrender me
the coming home –
remembrance of another
who knew me well
would never tell –
or hurt for swords
intended

my ways along
the rural road –
run south – then east –
then skyward
where I shall rest
in arms of love –
my tattered soul
restored

. . .