The day before winter

A walk, shortened,
in October bluster.
Black branches flailing
shake off leaves to the bonfire of fall.
Escape, they do, in a tumble dry dance.
Carpet the catwalks.
Stick to the shoes.

The future’s opaque.
Carrying, carrying things.
Stumbling towards rest.
Knuckles of anxiousness
push up, under the jawline.

unopened these years.
A pair of neglected sneakers,
remembrance of running,
regret now
they didn’t die a natural death.

This material mountain,
trove of trivialities,
hobbling our limp
to tomorrow.



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