OCTOBER

 

Broken bits falling into what's left of some lake we used to know.

There were times of recklessness and youth we let slip by,

watching with wistful eyes as the colder nights closed in.

Bonfires and a laughter almost frenzied.

Glass bottle exploding on the rocks.

Last cigarette passed from hunched figure to hunched figure,

our fingers too clumsy to grip the things that even then were fading away.

 

- Dorothy Branwyn

 

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