I, the fabled I,
touched & cultivated
by thou upon thou
write away
“personl feelings”
I’s I’s relationship
with the door way or chair
intimate too,
like running with abandon
through feilds of open green
The birds scatter, in play,
they know Me
I writes them forward
I practices their looks
in notebooks
, with feeble words
Did i even know you in our dungeon home?
Could you see Me?
Did you look?
Did I?
“Im here” the Diary says
“Its fine to meet you”
E’en after the fires
I set in the past,
the bridges I burned
to myself hold intact…
The action cannot be writ
that is the one
that must be done
when there is
no room to run
Precious one,
bring more pain;
I was loth,
before, to say:
just in case
you didnt know:
I know i am equipped
to let you go