I lift these hands
that writes these words
with a heavy burden

the hilt is made of aging walnut
and made to small
for what it's meant to hold

44

a number short
not much else is left
after a decade

in isolation
I'll try to steer me home
home free

one last time
I'll bring the words
my own words down

Magnum

my aim is blank
to the point
have always been

unwritten
lost in memory
unspoken