The soul has wings and brakes
And believes, concurs with
Inner obtuse opinion.
It hopes and yields
Though short of proof of safety.

But love only once it loosens
To the winds of chance
And when love found false
Stabs the core of soul's
Soft, naked, tender vulnerability -
The soul contracts, hardens to a rock
And never then exposes
Again its under belly to hope or faith.

It learns its lesson well
Though it does not dwell
Forever in sorrow.
It will spread its wings
Again but more narrowly
And fly again
But more carefully.
More wise, mature,
It will range more close to home
To self
To harbor
To wait
For true .

4/21/1982