if all the glory
had to end
between
a years goodbye
and all that love
would come down to
an ancient, silenced
cry,
betwixt once was
and never has
and boy!
was she a dream
sit i still
in that simple cloak
of torn and withered
seam.
..and there in dulled
and weathered sun
where moonbeams
have no place
worn chin lies thick
on barreled chest
and hides sweet
useless face.
