Sunday, December 18, 2011

For the days when the lights switch on and off by themselves


For the days when the lights switch on and off by themselves

and all the voice messages are from enemies
or other people
Only the good old days
lie
between verses
we have already written
For the fruit of fear in each December
Will this be the year
earth refuses
to forgive us with a blush of green
For the assumptions
of next winter’s chill
and for the quiet days in between
Your face mingled
in the poinsettias
after a brief rain  

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