there is an unswept corner in the heart,
a darker, quieter place
kept far and away apart
where we store the past of things,
those great days, the very last of things…
like canvasses covered in clean white linen
to be looked at in the lonely hours
when a static image of one long gone
can stare a little love back into you
for a moment…a hand reaching space
whereupon one might feel…
just a shade,
just a sliver,
just a taste of similarly static grace
and maybe sing,
for a moment.