Uncertain of an ending he scatters ashes of another life before our eyes
Handfuls of rain press the silence of the afternoon into water proof dreams
Umbrella shadows crown their regret into dark breaths
at the door way to his forehead
His vocabulary indulges frightened discoveries
looking for ways out of this heaven
where a vacancy sleeps unclouded with each embrace
and waits on a dream to unfold
Perhaps it’s a turning point, where betrayal arrives late
demonstrating each moment controlled with unsaid words
where he grows darker “as if he were nothing more
than this man or that man”
Where the power of poverty concealed in the wilderness
of his own shadow passes from one hand to another
and words are no long necessary