so late
after the fact there is fiction to this biography:
stained
like an October cheerleader i praise the shadows of summer
frosted
holographic wedding gowns
slip
across landscapes cooing the bark bare trees
leaves
like handprints on charcoal the bark bare trees
leave.
cordial gentle-people all they are – too late for the 19th century
i bid each adieu
like those summer mornings glistening
atlases of dew
eye drops
do. & not forgotten
i bid each adieu
like snowflake fingerprints etching
sketching
a digital sky i so want the warmth
a tear on
a blade of grass