there are places
untouched
by the passing of time
sorrows much deeper
than grief
a wanting for wisdom
would alter our fate
and take us to home
on wings of belief

to a life
beyond living
unremembered to sin
held as a breath
still blossoming there
shaded by seasons
restored us
from death
as memories held
to the heart
unaware

of colors
remaining
as dust off the fields
the taste of a name
on our tongue
is proof of another –
(sometimes to recall)
blooms on the path
from a dream
we become

. . .