How you come to be unfettered
from the swirling ankles of yesterday's belonging,
that artist-sketched simile of what it takes
to be the notion of forever imprinted
on a sepia page.
There is loss in the form of forgiving too much,
old injuries given a distorted perspective, a far-reaching kiss
delivered with a hiss, and all of this rendered into
a storm of worn-out fingers
upon a windowpane.
Yes, this ache is here, and my denial is a wintry breath
I thought long buried or astray, washed out amidst
the trace of history which needs repeating
to truly know what it means
to feel again.