Exfoliate

   The morning’s darkearth throws up a deep perfumeof rotting leaves: exfoliates perfidious pastas I should do with me & you. Our hands were tiedrelooped & strung with childhood bindsthey cut me from my soul & left mehanging free above a world I couldn’t share. This morning’s dark& after all these years you’d think I’d finda semblance of release but I’m not free:the trees still shed their golden leaves. But what of you & me?How can we be so far apart & out of reachwhen we said those heavy words that day,to have to hold to honour & obey till death should part:but now I think that it may bethe only way........to glue us back together.