Days of Awe
for LJF
The drapes hung heavy from the corner of the ceiling
fluting down onto the floor — a small tide suspended in time —
The pitchy velvet hazed with age keeps secrets, remembered
and forgotten, in its folds. Keeps chards of music, chatter,
longing days and passionate nights. Keeps cherished lies
and wordless prayers, keeps the downbeats of hearts,
keeps laughter, lost blessings, desires and defeat.
The book is open. This is my offering, what I can bring,
what I know and can’t remember. The all of the
irreconcilable me, not the ‘to be better/do better’ me.
Just the one and only ‘love better’ me.
The window is opened. I wait for the swell
of Your wind to meet my weave and webbing,
my essence and grain. I wait for the drapes to stir.
— B. Fox-Martin
