the wall

The collage
that I know not how
had strung itself
on the wall of my nowhere
and was a caress,...
a wrench on the
outstretched arms of desire;
and where
my heart
the fool in my
castle of air
had many a time
sung lays of loss
in a bubble burst of innocence.

In that witness mute
to what we ever were
or could be,
in sepia
and in colour of violation
now oftentimes
I feel a loving tousle
a knowing whisper
that sometime
the bravest things
are what we never do