loneliness
was a weight when I was younger
sometimes now it is a quiet place
without recompense, but without
frantic, breathless hurry, hustle
or gulping heartache
it slows, hangs it's head;
listens like a graying dog
to the sound of a field

then it is a feeling humbled
by so many unexpected joys, retired
to a sun-kissed island of fullness
praised tenderly
and smothered in good regard

though at times I falter,
I glance up to watch it come
a rush of resentment folds in,
a crushing blow in a glance,
and an uneven thump in my chest
forsaken

then hollow sounds
of forgotten sorrows wrangle
and tatter me,
leaving me to hang on this chair
like an old cardigan that has seen too many winters.