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morningofbeginnings

from the first
a whisper came –
beheld me to november
to wishes
(you remember)
touch divine
a barefoot side of heaven –
as once I thought you knew
a dusted floor
where sunlight split
the pines

a cedar box
of rusted fame
with ne’er a truth to carry
the key is gone –
but for the lock I saved
china plates
will nothing match
these shades of sarsaparilla
blessings of
another time –
forgave

crooked boards
and needs to tend –
tho who will understand
the ways I came
to walk these fields alone
tempted into trouble
morning warms the same
the night so still –
that all the stars have gone

. . .