Relics – A Poem

New life yet what was found
but clinging remnants.
Relics of the old guard.

My pretty
periwinkle of a wife
is stationed at the cross
road.

The air is charged
and static.

Mary brings me the news
with a smile on her lips
before the sun rise.
Turned inward
a mistake pulses
in me
and I confuse my own
artful collusion
for sanctuary.

A Justice asks me where
and I answer somewhere…
sometime
past.
Past the canal where the water
no longer flows
to when I was born.
It’s there that the bones
still remain
to blossom.

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