faded white
the promises
I swore to never lose –
though sometimes
I can’t move
within my skin
backward through the
coming back –
onward to the place
where standing now
is standing still
in time

april seems
a world away –
and yet another morning
is pushed against the feelings
I’ve almost
but not forgotten
and eyes
to scan the edges
of a world so few have known
orchids bloom
in shadows
where the darkness
goes to dream

. . .