more the known, knows.

lying
in the waste of excess
i climb the
battery of morning
through
noon purple hues
each divided by its own pink
a division stopped
at my window sill
i remember only the
challenged evening
out of time
through rumpled
sheets of
memory, her there
and still as a ghost,
walled in, only aqua-marine
eyes blink their imposible
blue and crowd
my empty heart,
a calm shifting of
centuries happens there, before
sleep,
before the
first inkling
of need,
pure,
genuine it rises
and the fingers
of mind reach
out,
whispering- companion,
a soft
blanketing
for a soul
once bare
rendering new cloth
from
vacancy
or
air
to spoil
January's delivered
cruelties
and lend peace in February's
hungry waiting stare