November 18

comments 2
poetry

Stilled, the chills sets in
in fingers and toes and heels–

still, it seems easier to stay
in so many ways,

yes, facile–
but the sky is cloudy

and the moon is half full,
what blame is there really?

No long shadows here,
regret like one too many,

only one, so easily walked back
and the sun tomorrow

outside this window is such
a ridiculous shade of gold–

generosity, magnimosity,
can’t look right at it, either

2 Comments

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