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silence wears a locket
of sterling
carved by light –
kept inside – a weave
of seventeen
when passed as life
to colors – raven on the night
clutched against the breast
where wishing held

patience keeps a window
open to the dark –
six long years of waiting
lest he come
as suffering – the nightingale
allegiance to her love
spread against
the fated firmament

memory of waking –
the other side of sleep
has left us not a road
for turning on
clouds of blue azalea
paths where there were none
– a step or more
from where the truth
was found

letting go
at last to wings –
never set to flight
cast against a vision
of the sun
lighter now
as breathing takes
a toll of consequence
shadows lean to grace
was sure to come

. . .