low places

On our darkest days

even the dust is frosted with solitude.

In love with all the fallen trees

the shabby coats of dismay

ending trust.

A secret tryst with compassion

then

seeking bitter tears

limey deposits of soreness

betraying time’s shapeshifter.

All the boughs are broken

solidifying serenity

in the face of the enemy

worshipping dust

for the sake of the dawn –

do you have faith as an ally?

 

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