Scraps on Paper

When sincerity of love is all we hope,
it pours like the sun that
lets you wander, to ask questions such
that leave no room for idle moments
inside rain hushed, soaked pages lying bare;
they flit and wrestle
until someone cares, and before her words
drain away
he might find answers.

He picks up the book and takes a walk in his pain
looking for her inside and rubs away rain
as the raindrops become
a bookmark,
perhaps one to remember as he turns
limp pages
from a time before now, sometime
once in November’s November.

Droplets form before soaked up
by pages now laden –
heavy with his heartache –
he is able to walk, all the while blaming
the rains for the tears
he wipes away with the mist
so he can see her – he reads on,
never wanting to finish the book
long ago opened and abandoned in the rain,
its damp pages struggling
till the sun comes again
sometime in someone’s summer.

Her voice lies inside each unturned
layer, he hears
her words…

Thumb each page
Feel just feel
Try then try
Life to life,
Seek come seek
Real to real
Words, my words
My life
You are me
Just read, me

Consume with passion
Day to day
Page to page
Age to age
Turn then turn
Dare then dare
Share to share
An end to end
A climax
Just spare, me

With these chapters
Write them write
Make to make
Flight to flight
Fight to fighting
Eye to eye
Heed then heed
Our words
You and I
Just write

Read them to me
Way to way
Open to open
Verse to verse
Good to good
Worse to worse
Cover to cover
Truth be bound
And worn
Just Bind, with me.