There is a fleeting sense
I wish to trap it here-
or is it better to say-
bleed it out
to see it in red
so I can relive
a better way to say
write the past,
in the wrong tense
to feel the heal happen.
If I could make it warm
to softly relay innocence
it would become welcome,
doors could open...
But just then-that is when,
I knew in passing,
there's only so much
words may do.
Image of painting by Attributed to Valentin de Boulogne [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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