too tired to
sleep
a small gold moth
darts in the dark
like doubt
or a heartbeat
the night
puts an edge
on memories
no answer, no
answer, those
were answers enough
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OPTIONAL POETRY 
Haunting
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this one snarked me and I had to go and add it to my ‘others’ page because it is so alive – here is what I commented: what happens, when words sing to heartbeats rather than synapses, is that the space around and between them allows one to breathe a fresh air which was never designed but is as old as the previous lifetime; published (and written?) the day of my mother’s birth – I have been trying to think how to remember her for the last 18 years – this poem gave me a clue …
visit your illustrious company at: https://mlewisredford.wordpress.com/others/
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yes, written as well — thank you for sharing it, and glad it resonated with you — illustrious company indeed!
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This was indeed deft work, lovely mood. ~ P ~
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Thank you, Pola!
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