Ann Arbor Review
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Copyright (c) 2013
Silver Grey Fox
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Tonight I am waving goodbye from the safety of the porch light while you
drift off thick in the
dark like a Summer breeze.
How strange to walk towards the horizon, where you can never bee--
always a long sky.
Looking out from here, clear black night, I have been up for hours stealing
glances at a star
under the rafter sitting like a razor blade, only to have forgotten
now, the magnolia flowers littered on the ground this time of year, things
other times quick like when the crickets stop singing.
Leaving, dying, amnesia--they must be like this moment after the final chorus,
Wondering where it all went, still hearing rhythm in my head and grasping
after it--fists full of
wind. I already have memories of you when I turn--the
moon is a half smile shining
down on your mouth--
how strange to be standing still for this, looking out from here,
the branches swaying beyond you.
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