<p>In the Patron Saint's Daybook who we thought we were and what we become may never handshake. </p><p>The dark holds séance and storm the old person on the bus - longing and a shaved room </p><p>the bronzed sky - a trilogy of stars climbing.</p><p></p><p>In the Patron Saint's Daybook the forgotten arrive first the past holds a keepsake of birds </p><p>the forest in your palm sleeps safe as if it was never stolen.</p>