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edges of fall 2013

shadows slide
beneath the crest –
echoes into song
the wake becomes our dreaming
to defend
laurel blooms
a sacred curse –
of choices made too few
a promise grew
to will us back again

questioning
these turns of fate
to touch on places tender
would mark as gifts
where skin is burned away
tracing stars
from one and back
ancient silver ladle
pours the light of living
empty into day

without regard
the midnight strains
against the gates
of morning
as red and purple sashes
counter blame
surrendered of another time
we stood beyond
the firelight
and made believe
wings were filled with flame

. . .