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...)

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