People at the pass,
           Past people
Through a concubine of memory
           Almost insatiably
They remember.
           The shadow from light cast
On open wounds,
           A meadow of grass whistles,
The sounds of children growing
           The invisible in front of us
           Days stretch like morning awakenings,
They are in the bedroom,
           The curtain brushes violet walls,
Coffee clenches a fist in the air,
          The morning mist choking on the sun.
A stain of kisses as she remembers
          The spill of passion
Torn out from the night into a constellation
           Un named
He is walking back,
With coffee cups in hand,
Back to the night before,
         Edges of forever
As home becomes the void
         They fill out the abyss with
Memory surrounded by life
                 Home
The stab of the sacrifice
         The door is revolving
In a collapse of time
         Daily they drink of another
Looking back
                 Moving forward
Memories clear the mist......