beyond the first
of lifetimes spent –
spread beneath the cedars
a scratch defies the hour
we were born
for what becomes
of moments held above
the worth of others –
a touch
to free the night
we waited on

hold my name
upon your tongue –
as memory of taste
tie it to a story
none can tell
as well as you –
tho time has eased
into another morning –
where once were words
twas there
I loved you well

. . .