cottongrass mist; and November.
copper
and faded memories.
whileaway hill rests in misty silence.
spindrift creeps
and a slight cold wind through the poplars.
water lapping over a stuck tree.
the river, bank to bank, like oil
and the faraway drone of a resigned dredgebarge.
an afternoon
late down the path of
the setting sun
thrown away:
time comes
once.
once is all.
dusk falls,
mouselike.
over the sky
stalking longer:
the man curfew.
leaden steps,
golden knowledge.
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