, , , ,

spare your
righteous discontent
(your choice)
to make it mine
where fault was laid
one summer night
beneath the pines
was then I took
of your first breath
(words you dared
not speak)
was ours for finding
I was you
(you were me)
for a time
sometimes much longer
than the flash
of one dark star
I knew the way would come
and you would go
miles beyond
the place where I might reach
to find you (still)
dreaming neath
an ancient stand
of pines

. . .