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shush

leaves without color
tho falling the same
are cut thru the light to the heart –
stilled by the comfort
of sorrows unknown –
and others
we carry by name

a little white river
and old woman feet
stories of long ago taking
as fields were to burn –
still lacking in grace
forgiveness
a place –
tho we never knew why

there would come
of our promise
a reason to go –
and miles without knowing
the ways we had come –
watching the sun
til the stars fell between

sheets we let dry
on the ground

. . .