when holding back the fray of our unraveling
sculpted of a quiet dusk trundling skyward
toward our impatient, rhythmic breaths,
in unison, a curious soul-shined radiance
curling into the touch of angels
with eyes tired against the weight
of all timid graces . . .
Why pale such beauty with hollow words
said or unsaid
for only a fleeting cause for dance
in the shallow depths of my every
waking imagining . . .
Why might I still find
(among tears you never knew I shed)
a voice now broken
all of shattered glass and torn silences
a voice restrained though still echoing songs
of an ocean's gentle unsleeping
and find again on this pillow
the frailty of all lost hope . . .
Why was sacrifice not enough
when the skies of my private heaven
are batter broken in the purr of my cries
when cathedrals built of constellations crumble
under the measure of my mirrored reflection
when stars too frail to shine
fall to ruby dust at my feet
and I am washed of raindrops
I can no longer feel . . .
Why when my heart was folded
and placed in your hands
written of word and burned as pyre
. . . have I not yet come undone?