October

the legs are dying
wailing protests to no one and everyone
they know, too
but doesn’t sorrow have its place?
defending pieces of its grace?
it separates
and heeds the barrels’ breaks

touch of gold leaf
borrows a creed for old times’ sake
it falls, too
so when upon our presences falls
the living breathing free-for-all?
the flying, dipping leather ball
it balances
and awaits the final call

      

       

Copyright L.M. 2007.

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