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would birth
be absolved
 by the passing between
or dying held fault
for the slipping away
moments becoming –
as stars to the dark
where hearts
held in secret
are gathered to grace

lingered in loving –
with purpose of life
as ashes to twilight
forgotten to fall
thru ribbons of scarlet
purple and maize
– and held as a passion
forgiving of all

a breathless confession
of moments too few
when promised forever
with all we hold dear
weaved to the soul
by pieces of light –
and waited as every goodbye

awash in a river
unnoticed by time –
 and swept by a memory
of night into day
no matter the measure
to lives lived between
or how far the first time
I held you
this way

. . .