Under paper and deeds buried.

Fighting a war with words;

defender 

pretender.

Ploughing ever forward

willing this day to arrive.

At dawn

looking back

over shoulder

past mountains and pits

a body marked with bruises,

I tremble.

What was,

now over distance

comes into focus

a chapter closed.

I won't count more days or weeks or months

but will note the passing year,

standing

Buen camino

Knowing love

from a well that never dries