in the still
of not quite over
I find my words again
hushed within the shadows
I’ve become
pressed into a memory
someone left before –
storms awake
and I
am not yet done

thought to go
forsaking us –
one more kiss then I
shall memorize these places
coming home
awkward
as remembering
when first you understood –
how was I to linger
as love already
gone

. . .

how many lives
were paid for this –
by chance
we love again
broken in the middle
but stitched across the brow
linked by fates
a scarlet thread –
arms that hold you
now
how many mornings
reminisced
how many times returned
a place that bears
an imprint of our love
remember
how I whispered –
with ne’er a thought
to leave
weakened by the way
you said my name
eternity can never
be enough

. . .

how many mornings
were left
on the floor –
fingers unfolding
pressed to my heart
so thankful for this
I lived for
gifts unintended
traded to me –
nights I said grace
while you slept
fevered
forgiving
of moments between
to take without leaving
to break
without bread
kneeling in shadows
grateful
and blessed
for all that was written
a time passed before
I awoke in your dreams –
unashamed of the light
that fell like a whisper
with a promise
of more

. . .

were that we
the first to know
of shores beyond the sun
of tiny shells
forgotten on our way
a destiny rekindled
as resurrection come
hello
goodbye
and every choice
to stay

my feet have hurt
from walking –
my eyes are sore with tears
letters written
come and I shall be
the same as you remember
were we ever
not for long –
a world beyond our wishing
was the place
you made
of me

. . .

beyond the night
I sometimes go
when all the lights
are left –
moments unresolved
to time’s caress
– the needle
on the gas gauge
warned us
one more time until
we’d soar into the madness
scorch another sun
while looking back
on one more
grain of sand

shining
in the stillness
left us lost –
aligned with stars
and counting lives
two hundred
would we know
the road ahead –
where steeples bent
apart from
numbers grieved
tears already falling
into rain

black the ash
was worn for man –
gave of truth
unselfish
placed my hand
above the place we shared
times to leave
and eighteen more
sundays yet to question
years would fade
beyond our will
to stay

lately
there are nights
I dare not close my weary eyes
forgetting once again
the way
we breathe

. . .