on this September morn,
undressed in eyes
once long, too young to winter
this curled surly age.
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.
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