dare I
score anew
the fabric of night
in long lost breath,
while fingers of ink
touch a heart
that knows the fresh
silence of death.

dare I...
with open hand,
touch anew
and not open wounds,
when a voice breaks silence
through the light of
equatorial moons.

will the words,
as broken
shards of pain,
reweave a silken web
broken
after the rain.