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Sep 2013
this face, he knows for way too long
this face, he knows has now no song
he knew not when, her happiness he breached
for rescue and redemption, her eyes beseech
sombre, solemn, the way it never was
his soul cried, he knew no cause.

the creases that adorned her smiling face
turned to spite, wrinkled flowers in her vase
the violin stopped, the scotch ran out
the crack in the wall, the sound of the drain
the dance of the clocks, all so mundane
that face he knew, every summer every fall
that face he knew, he knew not at all
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