I awake in the shadow
of quarter past two
and wander these hands o’er my heart
seduced by the chatter of wingeds at night –
the lull of a spirit
in haste to depart

longing perfected
in patches of blue –
the smokey white ghost of a whispering moon
spies on my dreaming though nothing is said –
as I fall into silence
stealing verse to my bed

it’s enough
to convince me
of truths growing cold –
faith in beginning where stories unfold
I remain as the keeper tho certain insane
where all who have loved –
in pieces remain

. . .