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Thursday, November 30, 2023

Avenue of Poplars

 

The faintest chitter of leaves in the Fall,

The slant auroras beneath the branches,

The blue-gray clouds that are not clouds at all,

But cloudless sky the fading light blanches,

The warmth and the chill I feel on my cheeks

As sunned and unsunned breezes alternate,

Each gust not finding what the other seeks,

And not one beast reaching out to a mate.

Today I walk this ordered avenue

Until the moon tops the furthest poplar.

It's so bright I can't see a single star,

A Milky Way I cannot know, but knew.

I reach home as the shadows slip away.

Only the moon's been moved enough to stay.