In the Patron Saint’s Daybook

In the Patron Saint's Daybook who we thought we were and what we become may never handshake.

The dark holds seance and storm, the old person on the bus - longing and a shaved room,

the bronzed sky - a trilogy of stars climbing.

In the Patron Saint's Daybook the forgotten arrive first, the past holds a keepsake of birds,

the forest in your palm sleeps safe, as if it was never stolen.