Old
Old is the small of lavender,
washed faces, the dust brown
of waxed furniture, bouquets
of veined hands that hide pearls
in indian boxes, alongside cameras
that fled across years, heavy-eyed ;
then there is you, the way you change,
you are half of these years, not just
the ebb, but a wave never slight
Copyright © Leslie Philibert | Year Posted 2016
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