What the tide brought with out shame, the remnants of a past ordained.
Even faster filling in all the foot prints,

lines, and sins, that run and written savored in, the water to the ankles bring, to lay down, roll round, beg begin, if only for a little swim in something all encompassing  Read more

It was, after all, a butterfly in the attic,

hiding from winter as a deciduous leaf,

a wilted and grounded speck tossed out two weeks before the air thawed enough

for others to join and remind the observer that

it is a joy to be so far away from grief