On the pencil thin line
between dusk and darkness
She opens the gate of the unpainted fence.
Bespattered with attempts
The recipe, bent and worn, falls from her pocket.
The chain of faded words on tattered paper
ready to flourish among fallen rose petals.
Entering loss without a trace of knowing
She searches but is already forgiven.
The empty pocket waits-
remembering the link
to something essential.
Dusk pencils her heart into darkness.
Notes- There was a frenzy of an "event" over on the Sunday Whirls Facebook page on Friday. To choose the words each person was to look at the word just posted and use word association to come up with their word. The word pencil sat in front of me - but all I saw was the dusk all around me, so I said dusk. ANYWAY not quite a word association.. So I thought the least I could do was put pencil and dusk in a sentence together and the last line in the poem dropped into my lap. Thanks for stopping by.