Days
You know
where
you’ve been—
not where you go.
September day
dreams
spiral
heads.
(If only
you knew
then,
what once
was before.)
We sip
summer’s slide—
once more
feel
how it was—
know
it will never be
like before.
Mother
in porch swing—
rocking
to time—
lost
cicada days
silent
as their song.
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