Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Saturday, November 17, 2018

Sonnet #271

The stone fruits in autumn are an exhaustion

I can understand: They pushed so hard
Into the light, reached every root until exertion
swelled into the bloom of life, a hundred new words

hang from every limb for weeks, and then they break
The wind blows, the dry times come, the storms
And the sun, itself, yawns apart, leans back;
What else can be done but decay a little, let the worms

among the fallen leaves, and let the leaves
we lost become the soil we eat, devouring self
And devouring those we welcome as thieves;
From the outside, we are sleeping, that's what they tell

But what no one sees is roots reaching, ever creating
The stonefruits and I look snowstorm still, roots reaching

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