© Christopher Raine


Of the Start

I’ve always driven,
always written,
from the glimmer
at the start
for the mirror
of a meaning
the incandescence
of the art
to feign
a fine forgiving
in the ruins
of the dark
neither slave
nor master,
but a purveyor
from the start
I’ll slip from
the sacred places
past the fragility
of the heart
to the tears
we left In traces
amongst the meanings
we impart
surrendering to
the quiet spaces
not the ending,
but the start
to seek a gentle
for this life
we must depart