There had never been a cave to hide my heart.
As the strings pulled…
Auspicious had been the woods, the hearth…
The mangled weeded twine beneath my bare-feet…
Had been only make-believe.
An exclusive story for my yearned for retreat.
With a long, last.
A dog, a butterfly.
A road that leads me nowhere.
Roots that lent a sturdy tie.
Slander can only arise from my perched lips.
Though a rail leads the transient way.
Visions of grandeur descend atop granite steps.