, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

there’s an hurt
beneath my spine
a tiny spot of grief
a shadow of remorse to most unseen
curves against my leaving
til I can barely stand –
a part of you
I’ve not the heart to glean

was there a time
decided –
a lot I chose to take
a card misplayed
lines from north to south
written to the margins
there for all to see
how I love
and how I live without

folded into verses
wherever ink is spilled
my will is bent
all my fingers ache
bruises indigo
are evidence of truth
ego sleeps –
tho my heart
is wide awake

. . .