quarter turn of a century
can't relieve this quandary;
what run across our puerile minds,
raising up these woollen blinds?
perhaps another season; two
to find for us a useful clue
we stand upon a smouldered wreck
in this our unenviable trek
from these ashes phoenixes arise

Picking up the internal slack
and bring about an inward tension
that emboldens for one to face the day
and the prospects of oncoming ones.
Where wet cheeks, are visible cues
of flipping calendars, leaf upon leaf:
existing surrenders
and like a sparkled after-rain,
brings a moist crystality
that fills in the cracks
and mends the broken places.