The scent of jasmine, silken,  wafts through
the now open window.
A montage of breeze and balm and mercy clears demons, cleans house.
       I hum their death song as they flee.
      It’s a pleasant tune
            and soon the whistle of the wind chimes in.
                                     Warmed, I am like granite
                                       in my resolve
to banish all that’s flawed.
       Not a scrap or scantling left of that devilish dust,
                settled too long, here, where I make my home.
                           Tonight, I’ll sleep, unafraid of sunset-
                                  In this made new domain, affirmations ample silence accusations.
                                          Standing on truth, I am trapped no longer.
                                                 I take refuge in a hiding place I always knew existed.








The Sunday Whirl