give the acute circumstances,
tinker the wind, flex
the thoughts, recreate
the epiphany, that hands
fill only with perpetual wind
over the years yet leaving small spaces
as leave inadequately cover the sky
my subconscious tells me to find,
to fall, to falter and relearn
lady, you have no idea what
you destroyed as you walked
down that aisle.
the carnage of hearts,
the ghost of a smile.
Labels: Poem