your own dust smothers
the rarest and surest gleams,
eyelids in dusk and darkness,
shadows wake and sing,
bright trails from space
died from the sky
falling coarse upon the ground,
seek relief in mysterious flesh
passion an avid substance,
subtle things come on wings,
as she listened to a telephone ring,
no other fabric torn
i won’t see granite over your head,
answer,voices, emotions decorate brow,
with poets wit summoned
a smile on face and companion soul,
he would return on that tree lined
road spiral towards the hill,
often misted by winter chimneys,
prayers had know their place
he lived and would love again
survivors all,
the mine in ruins
velvetmedia 
This was difficult to take in. I have difficulty with double spaced poems and had to rewrite on note pad to see this poem as I believe you meant it to be construed. When I did, it became a moving testimonial to the anxiety of the wives of men who go daily into the mines. The picture was heavy with it and with the nightly joy of seeing that loved one again still knowing that anxiety returned with every work day. Powerful piece, just didn’t love the formatting.
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There is great heart in this
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Excellent Chris. Really love this one.
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Thank you my friend
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