When you left
the first time 
it was punishment 
penance of sorts
left to pray
begging for mercy 
and an end 
when you left
this last time 
it was forgiveness 
peace of sorts
my being paroled 
of the crimes
from the jail 
of you and 
into the world 
of my freedom 
still a criminal 
marked as such 

This alone 
is robust 
it’s abundant 
and spacious 
it’s space 
not confined 
but confident 
more of
me most
this alone 
is quiet 
it’s prosperous 
and proper 
it’s mannered
not rude 
but polite 
all around 
me now 

Morning starts
then stops
starts again 
and stops
a cold
engine cranking 
warm water 
splash teeth 
shiny and 
grounds ducking
and diving 
and swirling 
like snowflakes 
finally settling 
into one 
quiet cuppa 

The writing of poetry 
is like sweating profusely 
on the hottest day
of the whole year 
but only dripping the 
tiniest of bead down 
the most inconvenient place 

You can separate 
the yellow from
the white but
you can never 
put back the 
egg into shell 
anymore than you 
can put love 
back into person 
once it’s free 
but you can 
separate the good 
from the bad