Bittersweet

so this is the way the night tastes... looking back I couldn't tell, in pencil at the beginning worn flights of steps, from before the war smaller, until they were gone but in the mirror, my hands gold rims, bare here and there out of an echo, knowing not long after flecked with red, blue in the depths, and polished... I see clearly all the pieces of the flower it was late when we started plates stacked on shelves next to the questions one at a time once there was a horizon no color except for gray at a perfect distance from each other almost a thousand years later almost in plain sight in the summer fields waiting it would climb up as a shadow we planned to wait and to whatever is still standing the eggshell of light before dark what was there before remained closed on its own along the ridge of the barn roof only she had forgotten her name a dried branch of bittersweet lace on drop-leaf tables I could not remember part memory, part distance leading me to the lake shore invisible under the hood _______________________________________________________ Inspired By Charlotte's Contest: "Cut-up/Collage Poems" and randomly "snipped" from a book by W.S. Merwin 2/27/14