The notion of romance,
at once a tender dream
though now fleeting with time,
has found absence with age.

I am prone now to sing to listening winds
that have no desire for such things
that wound and scar heart and flesh
with their leavings...taking pieces
of precious and bleeding hope.

I wander in my own footprints.
I lay my head upon my own pillow,
knowing it is free of tears and I seek only
sleep now, on long and quiet nights.