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)