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what loss
might i concede
holding back the storm
waiting yet of fate –
a certain fall
when years are spread
beyond the snow
as northern lights –
a summer kiss

the taste of ash –
as bitter once a flame
cooled against my tongue
another day
grieve my hands
tender lands
given time to know
was paradise
by some other name

will truth be found
more than this
a muted understanding
where none were drawn
empty folds
lifetimes to become
silences –
to rise
warmth to seek
whene’er the ground
goes cold

. . .