If the magnitude of that which I require
seems too vast, consider that I belong
to a forgotten time, though not yet come,
where my desires rest on foundations
built on truths of life, not what could be.
reverie, second only to new-born
innocence in antiquity’s esteem.
Hidden in jaded perceptions which challenge
love’s patience, memories of learned mistrust
leave deep scars brazen on skin
like crushed roses scattered and carried on harsh winds,
which you slowed to pluck the truth of my name …
and called me, as one from the same. One breath
pregnant with progeny of born-again
delicacy- I cling to life, calling,
“Love me gently … I’ll remember what it is to fly.”
2000-2003
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