laconacy in the spaces between the accordian squeeze the universe breathes with and how we might deny what belies our intentions...

cornering time

bending light
through webs
that account
for every step we take
every word we utter
shuttered in dust
woven in memories
strung, traced
in the faces
we flower in weeds
and mad gardens
seeded and deeded
to where hearts
like broken glass
thrown at the Sun
begin again...