maybe im alone

again

but maybe

im

just me,

caught between

your ragtime

and my

sulking

revere,

if days were

allowed

to turn

to nights

and nights

to turn

to

dust,

that sacred

polish

of

your sun

would wind

and turn

to

rust,

though maybe i

in

scared

small

nest

know just

what need

be done,

-if only

for

that

fighting breath

id learn

to take

as

one.