What is left are the echoes rebounding in the scaffolding, in the crumbling of monuments, in the taking of the sacraments and they are ringing out Hosanna in my ears.

advancing years?
and that could be so,
but the years make
no
advances unto me.

I may be lost amongst the sages
chiselling words out from rock faces
or it could be just a dream.

If I have loved you and
not shown it
then
the blame is mine
I own it

this is me and
all I'll be
is all in
everything I see
and I see
everything I want
to be in me.