Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

As blackened ash or dusty particles
of stain – like refuse left behind by drought
or flame or wind or devastation past
imagination – there I fingered through
the present, incongruous
that lovely lovely stays and you would leave.
I passed small remnants through my hands
like water; compliments and reprimands
illuminated on the hacking cleaver
of what used to be spontaneous
between us: time enough for heartfelt true
and honest love that first is raw if last
is all resolved in mercies versed throughout
obituary newsprint articles.