The Shell and the Narrative

In Hue and Value
The specter of
My voice camps
At pitch to resolve
The surrounds of us
A Sun-Dial day
Of Vineyards
The hindsight of
Morass in thalo blue
As Fire begets regret
A castle of religion
Could not contain me
Once enamored am
I always revealed in
Gold Lake of Mirrors
Asleep in the lap of
June – my birth in a
Zephyr of warmth
Now(here) we sighed
Of this occurrence
This charity entrusted
To our budding mend like
Salix by our lake I
Weep in Familiar wind
Beckoning to me to you
Kept shorn of Luxury
All those memories,
Childhood moments
To all of us, once
As passages across
All time each journey
Like children, like
Natives on the road
Of our Return to a
Senescent scent of
Sweet susurrus past
On, past all of us:
No one shall be taken
No one shall be lost.


© K. James Ribble

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