Mist
on this September morn,
undressed in eyes
once long, too young to winter
this curled surly age.
Surely once
upon this September morn,
before the chronic drains,
now long, domestic,
a smudge remains.
Would that I deny these slender pulled waters,
Would that I tender these misting points,
that tamp low grounds and river joints,
though one betrays, one end anoints.
September,
take this unto your soon departing –
remembrance is the better part of love –
starting once upon a starling cloud,
and crowding gathered flocks
fixed to the eyes of lovers once,
are reckoned on the heaves and rocks.
Inspired by: Lost Where I Belong by David Moore
Image: Tobias Oetiker on Unsplash
Sweet and Bitter Greens 
Devon, the perfect offering for an Autumn day… exceptionally written.
Thank you, Lance. I offered up a link to the poem that inspired the it. David Moore’s poem “Lost Where I Belong” got me reminiscing on an old flame, and wondering if at least a “smudge remains”.
D
A sincere pleasure, Devon. Sometimes a smudge is all we have…
So very true. We move along, informed by the experience and grateful for it.
D
Very grateful…
Lovely writing Devon, and so thoughtful of you to give me a mention in the comments. It’s always good to see the words of others coming from our own.
David,
I don’t know if you noticed, but I hope you had, that I employed or shall I say attempted to channel your voice in the final four lines of this poem. 🙂
D