beads   in the morning small feather or shell shows herself with her creamy alluvian fan of whipped white, the round shape presents a reference point on your mental horizon: no sunlight in the days here pale hours throughout winter inside her form is spring-embryo gently pulling at your heart: repeat, repeat repeat

beads   said, yes i’d love to come back though working now.  have to obey; the hours, the days —like beads, weighing against each other  mirroring repetition, unable to know what is real and what is repeated  yes, i’d love to come back; what is now and what has past said, what is lost  stay lost the pain so abandoned; one can hardly recall or mirror the cause i’d love to come back —i’d love