Evensong

Connemara

Ache

Days flutter to an ending
of a wingspan.

How we rise from our footfalls
again, again and again,

leaving storied echoes behind us,

is glory. There’s a secret love
tucked under the covers
of who we are. Sometimes
we won’t fall asleep, and tales
we’ve been told don’t last
for dreaming. Even the night
tenders a song to pull 
what’s strung out, undone,
into the tilt of our forever.

~ LCMH