this is what goes on the last page

 

we fall, as the year
into december, so
wetly longed-for.

the rush
that calls our quiet
is the absence

of sirens.
the rails we walked
for so long

now blink
into forever,
a smoke-curl

on january’s horizon.
your left hook
is useless

against the coming
cold.
that kind

of hardness
can only melt
or burn.

16 thoughts on “this is what goes on the last page

  1. “a smoke-curl / on january’s horizon” – now that’s how to describe forever. I could feel the cold here — sending you warm from California – spread it all over. Good poem, too.- Love, Mosk

  2. -The sword I lifted was the right word from the right part of this dream….Where there were answers that survived deep underground in purest water.

    -and there’s always water somewhere.

    One can always find a river flowing south deep in the earth to fill a well, if one keeps digging.

    • heya there, b. feels good to be around & part of a dverse world again. 🙂 thanks for dropping in, and the smiles. 🙂 how ya been? any richmond visits on the horizon?

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