the leveling glance harbors iniquity and tenderness in a single bated breath
leftover conjurings of goodwill flourish by the wayside
abandoned to dust and dirt and mud and pain and a million
little toils from the bosom of earths in a million minds
salacious in your enterprise
to fix within those realms of optic deliverance
some semblance of something other
than spite and misery
cowardice and loss
the search is benign
the results less so
but the road, the road, the ever farther road
combines with seas and waves with oceans
and turns and twists
and the winds and the caresses
all around us
lie the remnants
the images
the broken and tattered remains
of compassion once felt
for those who will never know
they were loved
