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for years
I thought to leaving
some rush into the night
would heal my heart –
and bear me to the light
a silver moth
of aging lace
surrendered to the flame
circles ’round me
the same

as was before
some other me –
some witness I can’t speak
of love I know
would beckon me –
beyond the realm of sleep
as stones were laid
beside me there –
as purple paper worn
now and then –
are light
before the morn

with wonder to the reasons
why I keep
what I can’t find
when all I’ve known
is leaving you
peacocks march
a broken porch –
smoke rings chill the dark
lines are drawn –
and still I run across

the moment
of permission –
the corner where I stood
wishing you
and swearing you no good
but for me
a truth unspoken
gives pause most every time
I find the gate left open
while making up
my mind

. . .