a sandy provenance of stolen dreams
which devolves upon the winter tide
is all that woke me to morning, once
again not even the dog wanted his walk.
i have come this way and then this way
haunting for some unfounded teaching
but the ghost dawn of one more day
was not your breath filled leanings
that i once loved,
nor your joy glazed thought:
meandering of winter light
this too long life
this too long longing
metonymy4u 
Leave a Reply