Seasons Come and Go
Birds bedded down. The cool air circulates.
Whispers of crickets. The black noise hushes.
Yawns give way to tears - the ducts erupting.
An autumnal wave crashes over me.
It’s obvious how seasons come and go,
as mom’s settled in purple urn - the ashes
keep; without incandescence in her sleep.
Copyright © Kim Rodrigues | Year Posted 2023
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