They come to me phrases,
crying out to be whole
One last bridge to cross,
no fare for the toll
Prodigal wanderers,
not spoken or heard
My breath used as payment,
—conveying their words
(Villaova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)
A Welcoming Hymn
The spare bedroom of life,
is where I sleep now
The other rooms taken,
the past dreaming proud
This cot that I lie on,
one sheet to keep warm
With furniture missing,
and curtains all torn
The end of the season,
the end of the hall
Forgetting the reasons,
my memory now small
As both eyes shut tightly,
my vision within
A palace awating,
—a welcoming hymn
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2017)