are there lines
across your heart
where once I lay me down
a memory of warmth
against your skin
I was here
just the same
to return most every night
when red is fallen
soft along the ridge
are there pieces
still to missing –
I have wondered now
again
down the roads
ten thousand miles
afraid
were I to call
would you hear me
sweeter than before –
a crush
of velvet wings
amidst the trees

. . .