we who were lost

we who were abandoned

lost in the cold, stumbling about in the snow

without friend or guide to find you

Red fire pours across a flowered field, licking to blaze all

It does touch. Ravens caw above cindered ashes, coal wings surfacing

On air. A young girl stares, pale-eyed as clouds, blinking against the fall

Of rain. Flutter of yarn - whisking, wispy soul along the wind; how does

Your story end?

It widens

it peaks

in its spread,

stretching from corner to corner

Love is that little thing

that people say

when they wish to use you,

and then abuse you.