This is left
The sound of paws on a new lawn
A Look
Anticipating the snatch of a sudden grasp
A Spiral
Inscribed in the vastness of a shell
A Repetition
Cycling from the start echoing in the now
Love Pulling
Like playing puppies in the transition
of this time between the trap and the release
Oh you hard you tried to be caught there between the spark and the flame
A Missing
Like a regret not yet formed
on an isle of forgiveness, forgiving itself
A Direction
Outside of compass points
reaching to the unknown knowing, knowing itself
A Searching Look
So deeply into the eyes of another
where both live in recognition, recognition itself
Love Pulling
into and from the eternal
rising again into light, light itself
This is left
The sharp bark of a nearby cut
A Leaning
of a folded umbrella hanging
on a table in a dew covered start
A Clothesline
measuring the time between wash and fold
strung out like a hope hoping against itself
A Lantern
Shining from the wicked of past ways
swinging on a precarious hinge rusting, rusting against itself
A Lesson
from an unexpected space falling
into the hold of your hands open, op against itself
A Feather
fallen next to a table on the grass in a look
of a flower or folded napkin crumbled, crumbled against itself
A Meeting
of a new close friend never seen
like a phantom of thought, thought itself
Love Pulling
on the last days into lasting
of a fasting being and dying, dying against itself