what late forgotten nights to emptiness has given

and now November morning will be taken asunder

the shovel stained with dirt in the hours of belonging

dug into the undiscovered of a life, a pest, a plague



falling back into the arms - no never

admitting to a life alone - no

claiming there are sparks inside - no

outside looking back - no

so the lie never stopped



cling to the wave it cried and onward to the night

expecting not and nothing in the presence of a lie

the deeper that it dug the more now had to go

surrender was a fact and the room was decorated

- the lie never stopped

what late forgotten nights to emptiness has given



the strangers may they come in ignorance's disguise

so into the dark walking to leave the last of times

kneedeep in desperation to fill the gap behind



boldly thread the night forever

November thought are right - oh never

taken from the fall - no



frightened by the key but the trail behind the house

felt compelling and new - the lie never stopped

found at loss for words, now words aren't enough



someone told, a vacancy was open

someone laughed, the silence here was broken

dug up to make room

the room which you furnaced and graced

there is no vacancy

the least can fill the fountain

the most will flood the mold