anchored by threads
of faraway seasons
veils pulled aside to reveal
the divine –
provision of poetry
and bright wooly winters
November new better
the passing of time

held by the truth
and counted as curses –
returned from the care
of hands folded two
love has but memory
of one to the other –
pictures of living
with love shining through

spare me the stories
of futures negated
by something that somebody told
mornings grown harsh
by the threat of another
let not this measure
make waste of our soul

two were remembered
by places uneven
and signs
kept by moments unseen
seasons revealing
the pages already
were torn from our keeping
as now we conceive

where were we started
when looking for answers
a question
of living – a coming back home
as a mist on the orchard
a frozen green apple
made good the foretelling
of winters to come

where did we dream
what the occasion
would lead us so far
from the light we had been
telling of times
we spoke without speaking
and ran without knowing
we’d find us again