In the Patron Saint's Daybook

In the Patron Saint's Daybook who we thought we were and what we become may never handshake.

The dark holds s ance and storm, the old person on the bus - longing and a shaved room,

the bronzed sky - a trilogy of stars climbing.

In the Patron Saint's Daybook the forgotten arrive first, the past holds a keepsake of birds,

the forest in your palm sleeps safe, as if it was never stolen.