Before It’s Too Late

November 1, 2010
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The solitude trees shade the bare, black banks,
Like an iron wall taut and leaning against the sky.
And the asters and bleeding hearts droop with weight,
Of graying teardrops falling from the clouds.

I leave First Baptist alone, and my heart droops with weight,
Of memories, circulating each atrium, each vestibule in my body,
Making my eyelids heavy, my face pale, my hands numb…
And my nerves shatter like glass striking still water.

I watch him from behind the trees, past the black banks,
His clementine hair flapping like monarch wings, florid cheeks,
Flowery smile that causes the black tree leaves to blush gold,
A smile that disappears in charcoal mists that separate us.

He tries to hold his hand out before it’s too late—





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