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Written last October to a deceased poet-friend. |
| OCTOBER WEEPS (In Loving Memory of My Poet-Friend, J.T.) I follow the unlit road tucked within hilly blindfolds to the place you once lived. You're gone two months now, seasons pass unceremoniously. Though summer to autumn fall lightly as clockwork, you lay on me heavy tonight. I need to see the dim light from your window, the Ford pick-up waiting for you at the curb. I want to hear your voice stuttered yet steady sing somber Cohen songs you've left me humming. I want to snatch up the poems strung from high leafy branches... We laughed about this years ago. Your house is all blackness, old pick-up hauled off, the music stops inside my head. Trees stand solemn witness, all too quiet and bare. Dry leaves skitter across the dark roadway like ashes, unwritten poems these leaves. (10/5/05) |