Memories flutter gently of
times long since past. To
reach out in hope is
easy, as if I may
touch their fragile magic, for
however much I try to think they're
gone, they smile at me
reassuringly; as a breeze
suffused with the light of centuries and a
spray made white with the
salt of many tears they
lift the corners of my soul and
winnow out the
chaff of bitter living,
smoothing the
threadbare traffic of experience
until I am,
mostly, whole again.




each step back in time I take, I
let in another light upon the world,
teasing a glimmer of redress from all
confusion; willing the
cold, sharp vision of
this reality to illuminate the
unforgiving countenance of the past; and
measure by measure the
sense of things becomes more
plain as words once
blackened with bitter gall
lose their pent-up rage and the
etching out of sorrow traces a
different line; love creeps in to
stare out even the most
painful of memories and
draws around itself a sense of
peace where it, alone, remains and
truth shines with
unbearable beauty.



Wasted Years

wasted years
 crawl into view,
opening down through time all the
bitterness, as if new, with
anger piled high in
drifts on pain, as
cold as winter-driving rain; and
tears, tears for the
chances missed which like the
Spring lie
buried here amid the
fallen leaves that mark the
end of year; and
never a chance, even, to say
goodbye as all their
light, like hope, is
shuttered out and the
long night sets in.