Poem: Crisp

slow summer heat
burnt around the edges
crumbling into dust

still Autumn weeps
for fading August heat
keeping secrets to herself

while I linger outside
hoping to catch a glimpse
of you again walking by

knowing it’s impossible
for the dead to walk
or time to freeze fast

leaving me here waiting
for leaves to burn bright
falling into winter night

there is no greater aching
than the empty sorrow
of clinging memory.

2 thoughts on “Poem: Crisp

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