there is always rain in the aftermath of love unkind
a burning feat known only when our
present tears settle
for nothing less than a full serving and
one doubtless score
we are dragged to wash the initial stain
–inevitable burden-
from that first graceless fall…we wade
in the clear waters
unknown but so inviting like the fruit
at hand…and we
are ready to land that shore of fire and
feel a million
tongues within our nerves…we ride the
rush in the rapids
of the cage grieving our loss...spinning
in a whirlwind of rue
sorrow and blame -swept far and away as
the heart breaks
and we are made to stand without faith before
a real judge
tarnished bloodletter of dregs who
begrudges his own take
and before whom we recollect all the
things possible fallen
from our hands carelessly…its blood spills washed away
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