Save these things
of mine
in the bureau
until time is ripe.

When you have walked
your life threadbare.
Mended frayed corners
worn in sun-moonlight.

Brew a balm
on a hearth
of river stones.
Potent enough to rise
necks of roses
wilted on
our pillow spread.

A new moon
bends her head
as you pass over
the river Orontes.

I’ll stand
fearless with sparrows
waiting on your
lonesome hand.