Neologism

I am sitting
With the lights on
In the dark
Like no one’s home
Without the spark

I did not know
The words could be
So simply said
You want to forgive
What the soul
Puts to bed

An extremely large flock
Of Sandhill Cranes form
A migration around the
Grounds of our wintering
Remains with absent gains
Hearts very high in the sky
Of abysmal memories

Cascades of deeper rusty
Blackened echoes and
What was said
Handing in the fin
Hanging on the edge
Of our ozone
Left to recount what
Breathing on a couch makes
Good for dreaming

© GÄ