Washed 'Our' Life Is 'Ashes' Poem by James McLain

Gone are the versions, each now has left us.
Older now, as we attach wings too those clouds.
And with each tail made of cool silky smoke, you
it was they whom made me,
and you now know they are but left over ashes
your dreams i felt move across me.
Can with twilight near-draw you in one last time.
I can't be expected to know if it's true, do you but.
The window is open and it grows so much cooler,
she thy neighbor comes in for a minute too see.
The smoke comes back and if i grow into each day
then you know it is your hand that i feel, as i grow.
But if she is you and i am he then you know i am full.
Washed out 'our' Life is but 'Ashes' i'm left out too breath.



t.c.i.(
is)
e.st.v.m.(