in the breath
where memory hides
you are there
on sundays
when the paper comes
as i lean into the light
where first you arrived
warmth on my face –
my need
to embrace
whatever is come
whatever is made
of us
when the reasons
all fall away
my smile can no longer
suffer the ache
to know where you stood
at the edge
of one day
at the fringe
where darkness
covered in light –
awaited my breath
to return

. . .