And here
we are
again,
my love,
under
one more
bullock
cart night,
devoid 
of care,
ageless
in joy.

Clingy
as sand
are the
actions
of past.
Forgive,
my love,
forget
as well,
devoid
of care,
ageless
in joy.

For long
had I
raged and
hated
the tide
that took
you far
adrift.
But now,
my love,
I know
by heart
it was
leading
you to
me swift.

The man
you called,
“My love,”
my love,
was not
better
a man
than me.
He crushed
your soul
beneath
his thumb,
and noosed
the husk
with glee.

So here
I stand,
a gun
in hand,
tall at
your grave,
my love.
Crows caw
in nest
when owls
destroy,
devoid
of care,
ageless
in joy.