October

Entering into a joy of its own,
love long subdued, yet never
denied . . .
Deeply buried, muffled calls from
memory’s tomb.
Embedded in layers, perennial autumn leaves.
Empty years
temporarily deluged by tears
tumbling like coins
through torn clothing.
Hard earned but never spent;
I weep for you.
Entering into a joy of its own,
elation of interchange incomplete.
Crepuscular darkness of Autumn,
solemn, ancient, descending,
anticipates consummation.
.
.
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