Trust, that approximate
between us. In full strength
we hold worryless, unassuming
--the fastness stretched close
one to one. Asked only in
anguished breach, my friend:
what import faith misplaced
in an evil hour: a millstone,
stumbling block, ill omen.
Continuance is not in partial
repair, forgiveness; one finds
no satisfaction for fractured
peace, now troubled vigilance.
If not of huger force than ours,
the straight needle of Love's
constant cycle of attraction,
pulling to poles of surety
iron grains of small fidelity.

CC 2007 Sharon Mollerus