Sixty Winters
Sixty winters in the forefront of my mind,
in the palm of my hand-
i’m making peace with the moon and desperately
seeking solace in the crease of his arm.
Sixty winters in the forefront of my mind,
limited beats in a half heart-
i’ve opened it up to the halcyon notes of your
bird song.
Sixty winters in the forefront of my mind,
in the white of my eye-
the rebirth of aborted ideas that
you’d closed in an airlock.
One winter in the forefront of my mind,
seventy nine spent alone.
Nothing had changed,
the fault was all my own.
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