Tonight is a night of slips
Fingers hurried, sliding sheets under old doors
the clock ticks away as the shadows grow heavy
weights on petite shoulders
I only thought of a period.
Twilight will approach
and endings lounge in the hour before dawn
as sunbeams disperse, honey drippings
to warm the sky
blue
I remember you too, wingtips.
An exotic agate, a paperweight lifted by my hands
a soft bound book carried its shape
indents
There was a love story
It was 1970
It wasn’t mine to keep.
Layered Fragments, Becoming Whole 