In Our Infinite Return
I blame it on the light
pretending. Auburn bright and Autumn
too.
Fainted dim of our December
imparts the solemn fall of all to
view.
Crass comes the stilted body, amalgam
in the slanted rain. The April rains a timbered
soak.
The rings. O time! O time remains.
Copyright © Collin Lam | Year Posted 2013
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