october, two years ago
Nov 3 · 2 min read
In the woods before the fire,
sunlight from some misspent
year releasing on the grate long-bent
with heat. Glow of maple
seed wings, the light saying good-bye,
saying good-night,
as the wings glowed.
This was like gloaming, like
some twilit fairytale
in which the heroines have hair
as long in their youth as
mine was becoming
in my — if not exactly old — then eclipsing age.

