Is it worth a committing
To memory
Of a forlorn by,
A chilled chest
Against the stone cold bricks,
A weary brief
Of a tender leaf
Under my toe?
The summer bright
Spring filled flight
An autumn wind
A winter
Of even snow.
In the suburbs
Or along the pebbles
Of a blatant sea?
A smile that tore
In a midnight lore
Filling the air
With a speech once untold.
Or the searching eyes,
A limpid laze
Of my featherly grace?
The bygone days
Now I wear
To dress my soul
With ease.
The memories
Not to fail but lend
Its fair hands
My breast to swell
A fullness reveal
