Monday, September 26, 2016
This planet will burn long before her sun.
Inside the fences, though,
her death will be calm, dignified,
a mirror of all colors,
a vision of dust, salt, and dry grass.
(O, and if you can afford to travel north
the woods will still breathe September rains;
the evening lawns will still smell
of rotting apples...)
Posted by Maren Behrensen at 21:11