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gathered mine

the first kiss
your last goodbye
held as mine
‘neath jealous skies
where truth was sealed
by wordless sighs
lies
too old
to remember

the way we came
from roads before
with want for none
but grace for more –
than a hand could hold
a heart would store
in boxes old
and bursting

given place
a rite of rest
one promise sweet
tho unconfessed
with all I am –
with nothing less
than a song
you taught me
whisper

into the still
surrounding now
when by ten thousand
deaths
I vow
another breath
somewhere
somehow
in fields by heaven
seeded

another first
‘neath amber skies
where angels dance
by firelight
where truth was sealed
by wordless sighs –
lies
too old
to remember

. . .

Author’s Note: Pieces of this have haunted me over the last couple weeks. Not long ago, I wandered to an old road not far from where I grew up. I could see clearly that an industrial park was hedging bets on every spare inch of land. But on another day (another life), the trees barely parted for the lane, and beyond was a field deep with wheat and dreams. I don’t know whether ‘parking’ is a southern thing or not. I’d hate to think that we’re the only ones with an appreciation for summer nights on a lacey quilt – witnesses to heaven beneath a blanket of stars.

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