The Passage of Summer
A veil of clouds
ghosts the front lawn
and soft fall of rain
patters—
the passage of summer.
Leaves cling
onto branches-
and in reflection
I wonder
how long
before they
drift to the ground.
My ears ring
while I listen
to the song
of nothingness
and I gaze
out the window-
where a aging side street
lies broken.
Copyright © Mike Bayles | Year Posted 2023
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