All The Goodbyes I Ever Made And The Myriad Ones Never Done
are as misty as the creeping dusk
bright as the crimson bracken
they loom like
the image of the fire and radio in midwinter as a ragu bubbles in the kitchen
the portrait of the same street scene i’ll paint at 11.15 in the A M every day in my dotage
for:::
all our goodbyes remain and all our hellos get forgot
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