Intimidation and fear for the future crumble in the face of wisdom or does it

The truth was I could not manage my soul, and I was becoming aware of old age because of my weakness in the face of love.  

Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Memomories Of My Melancholy Whores 

Hunger

Tight, the grip deep within, nurtured 
by years of solitude counting to the swill's ending hour

Slash that vision of chill amidst arid threaded landscape

Whisper beckons beating, come out of the dark 

to then march on thundering hooves

Journey home now

now, the Northwind blows

the tides call, the North wind blows

Spread, the ancient bud was invited

welcome by embrace, emerge as garden

Let go swatted limb, overlook the mountain

from its upturned shoulder

Wait for the arc's return, as remaining still

Untouched

and be

blessed to exhale