Upon The Woods In Memory

Friday, in the brisk winged winter's light,  I watch over our sky, bleeding in soft gray memory. Your sheltering touch, your slow hand silked lace, as leaves shutter down, longing with mindful color. 

I reach foward with the last in moments we will share, our circle layed and yes; fractured:
I have only but this penniless heart to give; Only one withering life faltering here besde me. A day marked in misery growing in angel voice. Your distance intrepid, and how it purifies this last so well. Softer the gray, how youthful the woods, 
Our memories lightly scorched onto heaven's gate . You will meet me instde where the air is cool as randonmess and a freedom that we never once knew.