It all starts with you
You, in sun's rays
reliably became a haunting ground
Somehow
under mother dusk
You, bathed in moon
became the cradling arms,
somehow,
that nurtured the hurt
endured in living
Injured in living. . .

With our small moves
We move the hour hand
When we return
Rust catches up
It all ends with you
and in the ending
Grown,
We come home to flame

I thought you were stone
When you were nothing
I know this: we sleep in ash beds
Our retreat was no
garden but fostered flowers
And now you are
bones