Grasping at night
Smoke sifts into
A living pallor
Chambered by
The used rooms
Of stooped
Purpose
Escaped from
A valence lost
To deflection
Of an early
Son
Take hold
Of this breath
It bates you
Suspended in
Its pacing
All incident
Is folded
On the kitchen
Table
The caress
Of rosy fingers
Is too remembered
Here
Tom McGlynn
copyright 2013
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