there was such hope
in this morning.
there were springs
and summers all
jumbled up in our eyes.
there were poems
scrawled in neon, winding
between our fingers:
binding, not bound. now
they slog through wet
descent, flailing, &
here we are at the back
of the notebook, a single
leaf remaining
before october ends.
cold settles in
like a low fog,
like tequila hung-
over, like
responsibility.
the river keeps rising,
and i will miss it.
there was such hope
in this morning.
& i am waiting still.
the tenth muse 
There is such longing in this, such a quiet resigned sadness. Reminds me of an Eva Cassidy song (“I Know You By Heart.”) The sadness is always in the “what might have been.” Your poems always touch me. 🙂 Thanks and sending healing love, Mosk
smiles…love all the springs and summers in the opening…symbols of that hope….the last page of the notebook in fall…smiles…nice touch as well…teqilla hang overs hurt me….smiles..def feel the longing as well….love how you bring the elements together in this joanna
the river keeps rising, and i will miss it. there was such hope in this morning. & i am waiting still.