a poem by Dale Costello, Australia - poetry writer, author, poet

and all her words have left
on a page unsigned
a heart like mine
like yours
without ceiling or flaw
a window where the door
was left hanging..

of all she left unsaid
that perfect heart that bled
stars and poetry
nights unknown to me
but for the remembering
with the same breath
we are born to living..

and but for dreams I wake
to sound and every mistake
our souls may venture
the pure surrender
of unceasing rain
that page again
floating by..

of all that time concedes
to endless days
the wind as it plays
without fingers or lips
upon the hollows
all that can't be followed
or called our own..

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