turning clean

“turning clean”

 

endless turns mark hours,

hand, quietly moving
through whatever pain waits,

its cold, watching

set against heart, already

bruised by wringing
keeps its own pace,

a kind of steady proving

 

day carries pitch

a cry held low,

quiet running through
a stretch of dark,

 

on road longer walking
twilight thinning into soft fading
                  the weight settling,

          the breath tightening

 

smiles try to hold daylight,

brief staying
grief rising again,

its circle returning

affection gone thin,

        ghosts drifting, mourning
wish for what's remaining

              still reaching

 

inside this drift,

this looping, turning
we look for a small lift,

       a breeze easing

the chest for a moment,

enough of a clearing
to keep going, to find

a corner worth keeping

 

 

 

 

.