Shards of glass, splinters
Of wood, debris from whence
All was good
Memories of nights, figments
Of days, thoughts of things
When all was right
The tomb of life, in your
Womb of death, smite
My rest
I seek to grasp, but my hands
Slip and gulps of air, I
Take with gasps
Across the river, faintly
Though, I see a rainbow....could
This cloud have a lining of silver?
