I
a man twines his existence around the fluttering pulse of
a woman her acceptance of flaws, his broken strings
and candle smoke rising to the tremors of sundays
sitting in church and questioning her faith
fanning the dark tendrils curling the descending of love
bowing, dying...
it tears her, from dust to dust he blows away
and she cries, curls herself over his guitar until it imprints
the story of her life in her bowels
while her heart refuses to accept the creeping river
of her sorrow the curtains shielding, opening
revealing no weakness.
no tears shall depart from her gossamer eyes
she sits in the rocking chair near the door, the window
gazing at life leaving and trapped between the seasons
passing, while she knits his gold hat
waiting for his infidelity racked knuckles to pull it on his head.
Honorable winner
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