A neighbor, almost rival

who lost a son, I needed to be easy on.

She wanted in, I held her back, firm stance, strong attack.

She said, look I’m only the messenger. We come to shed way.

I am concerned, others dim or lay themselves on antique shelves

to stay preserved in a kind of maze, a type of phrase that could

phase the human race to waste what is truly the Way.

I’m just the messenger. I’ve come

to say of what I relay.

3.8.15