Sometimes,
I dream,
a hand once dark in velvet
patting mine,
rasping voice, don't be a shit my dear.
when I embraced some casual blame, my light weight guilt
stopping real talk,
or anger spitting in the well.
he who shouldered his own guilt, would
gleefully take it, and run.
No absolution, just let's keep going.

Traveling back to the provinces.
i am tempted to retreat again.
i have forged and ebbed all my life.
the general advice is to do it.

Its when i remember love,
which i swallow like a japenese ball found on the beach
is the pain, sorrow and fear held.