a basin of years
washed
dust bowl salvations
in gritty glass prints

I was the ghost
of reasons
flown through
turbulent
tides

and you

the wings
of a broken salvation
rimmed in a dark night
like a bitter eclipse

pockets of stars
shinning
like payphone qaurters

a chord rested
between bars
and in the stillness
a mid step spark
of reason

ignitions
tumbling walls
of fortifications

I felt the hitch
in a breath
telephones
and tears

wound with
tapestry
colors

tested in
the fires
of intense brilliance
the subtle taste
of resonance

chalk kisses
in a nervous
touch
tremolous
seasons
each fragrant
leaf brought about
with gravities love

wolves out of season
drinking stream fountian
sighs

our carapace locket heart
on its tricky lock
opens yet
its arms
to a pain
dripped
from a mouth
of passionate
desolation