Friday, September 16, 2016

Training myself like fingers
for the accordion, like hands
for the work
for the work is what I must be bent to

like hands,
                  Like a back to toil
like a face to book or sun --
          nothing fun

like leaving the gentle air and
spending the entire Autumn
at harvest

following winter into the black
              walking away from
 sunset, into the black orchard

And beyond
to the road into your own
tired twilight.


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