I can’t say what of this day or its lack
has caused me to weary on this floating dock
in the drift of the water’s warp and wrest,
with the indifferent sun, that seed-heavy sack,
tremulous over the pines, spilling its chaff.
Geese lift from the far hill in the last light,
unfurl above alders, dip and scrape across the pond,
and I don’t know how much longer I can wait
as the wind, smelling of leaf rot and dung,
tugs the evening over this darkening land. |
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