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The Turn of Autumn's Beauty

It’s Fall on Fifth Avenue today.

The wind breathes the branches apart
And she opens up the sky.

I feel you in the sun
As he intertwines his fingers
With the delicate
Color shifting leaves,
His daughters.

I hear Vivaldi,
Autumn’s concerto,
And the crying violin.

The daughters dance.
And I see you in the way
The wind rocks them
And in the way the sun holds them.
They never rise
But only fall, gently

As do I.
I lower my head
I pick a path
And walk on

As I fold my eyes over my cheeks
Coloring the sight of you black,
I feel you and your unsaid words
In the dampness oozing from the pavement
Where the daughters have died.
I breathe your breath
And let it pour from my chest to my stomach.
I lift it back up
And swallow.

But it’s the wind that breathes me,
And it’s the sun that I see,
And their daughters that dance
For they are the ones
That descend to their delicate deaths
And seep the mist of their memory
Through the path
That I chose.

You’re not here.





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