Turning wounds inside out like
tasseled
Laundry
The winters split our hairs
Grey with redemption
In silent changes we approach its passing
Calculating but never equating
A tribe in the sand leaves foot prints
Fading as wind sweep them away
As is this existence except in the memory of our things
That we box up
Take with us
And store in our bellows
Take breaths from our belongings
Touchstones of the past the wings of dreams via able visible memories
Lingers left of the dreams
I can not reach
Curse the thief
and still praise the day
The wounding ended
The secret went away