Last Bridge (+1)

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)