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∴

the things that hope said
in the dark of the night
were muffled by shadow
and lost in lost light.

 

but still, they were spoken –
hope’s words –
in our ears,
like distant, weak rumblings
of imminent years.

years

that shall come upon us,
like fire,
like rain,
to burn and to wash
the taintingest stain

 

if we live them out fully –

with their wounding weeks
and injurious days –

and not hide in them –

with our dreams held in keeps,
and our adroitness in stays.

 

the things that hope said
were few
and subdued

but still,
they were spoken
as they hung on a rood.

∴

 

 

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