am not saintly
nor a satin wrapped gamine
unbolting shanks of life
roiled in calm, rued
moth-laden and dreamy
my prying eyes burn the pyre
figments in webs
lacerating and unholy
unimagined, unperturbed
streaks of darkness coil inside the light
large walls stand yellowed
warped in a joust
in times of memory dust rises and settles
the ground shone once, where light reclined
where faith once walked barefoot
now hustle of steps is lost in the bare silence
as faint light shines only to recede where the present
is collapsing to leave the touch of hand on the future
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