If autumn leaves
We will count the days down
one by one, and you’ll have
your fun wishing them done,
as if the sun cried dried up,
its cup too parched to crack open
this token, this pensive wail,
and you’ll set sail on wild seas
of chance, no backward glance
anyone can seize, if you please.
It pleasures none to depart,
as if you had the heart
to restart this karmic debt,
unpaid, but you stayed here
where the days frayed, and you
said when the nights grew long
and you finally forgot your song
this throng would know you belong
with them. The hem of this dress
is slipping, time tripping, the
sap dripping from the trees.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, November 6, 2020
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