|Northern red oak (Quercus rubra) fallen leaves by Dcrjsr|
A snapshot of two scores should not collapse,
corners ripped, creases and coffee stains,
willing to remain on the rusty hook,
unable to keep a horizon, blind to a future.
A grave space saw the light of day where shoulders
used to touch. A thin mist has made a wart,
so faces look away from a previous goal
shared. Flakes of fall leaves die on the musty floor.
It seems no magic wand can bring together what
two hands failed to protect from the morrow;
walls cold and alone squeeze in a little tighter
the worm devoured frame cracks in deep distress.
It will not be long now, for all the parts conspire,
exhausted by a journey of sparse rocks and muddy puddles;
the soiled canvas begs for a moment’s reprieve;
it tilts a little more hanging to its last inaudible breath.
Two scores and no more, kindness is the only glue,
cruelty forgiven; purity of soul in the balance
is of no weight to the vengeful heart. Thus go my friend
into the dark shadows that curdle the blood to still ice.
Your partner in old crimes will go on to capture in the folds
of the old image, a smile or two, perhaps some fear;
it is done, broken, mirror of decades full of giddy life,
among cuts of another year’s news, it lays now a corpse.