i never thought this day would come
with death's dusty pink collar
blooming in senescence as
the goldfinch flies with
exuberant locution.

what tome have you written in your
faulty hand? blameless brokenness
becomes me as
the light of tomorrow's sun
reaches these cracks today.

i'm no puzzle...i walk the line
of cynicism and bitterness
leaving yesterday's
nubile romance face down
in a shallow puddle of rain water in the
street. the sign said 'STOP' and that
was the end of its instruction.