in the brittle brown
awareness
color of my eyes –
carved within the canyon
of discord
swelled against my longing
a distant sweet
resound –
of times before
where leaving I
remained

swirled in cloths
of mystery –
fell to fields of clover
spent the night
in rivers
of the stars

who am I
to ponder this –
who I am
to lessen –
the treasures come
as life revealed
almost over now

bathed in pools
of lunar spring –
as jealous
nights made watch
polished slick the stones
that wore my path

familiar as the longing
was coming round
to be –
as one
will be remembered
for the coming back
to me

tender now
the almost touch
of hands restored to heart
fluttering beneath
a sacred wing

. . .