People tell me things.
I listen, I see, I remember,
not lost to me—
a casual thought, a memory, a mood
a moment shared—
spoken, in gaze or gesture.
I fill in the blanks with imperfect truths
from shards of stories
that “never finish what they have to say.”
I create composite effigies--
patterns, themes, tales
of grief and gallantry,
magical thinking and illusions,
doubt and faith, beauty and despair,
kindness and grace
love and loss.
Do I betray a trust
elevate to myth
redeem a transgression?
People tell me things and I write.
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