Spell

How do words strung together

by frailest hand 

compare to those poems

enacted in charm 

In undulation 

In breath 

In knowing 

           In risk 

In friendship 

And in fear 

In love,

A whisper of past yearnings

Lays slowly dying;

A kind of upset too seemingly 

unimportant now

not to be written off as 

cavalier  

But through which 

future grievances catalyze,

A bearing of witness to

cracks 

in stony walls 

My, 

The crumble smells so sweet