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The Light Winter


Forget the leaves, the turning is done.  Now is the time for the rakes.  Bag these old, crispy, red oakers.  Get the damn acorns too.  Shade will return in spring, the light winter is here getting ready for the birth.


Word is out.  Maybe has been upgraded to probably with doubt running for the back door.  When the house lights blaze, the gig is over.  Time to get.  Time to get going.

Shambles are fine, all our broken ways.  We'll stay afloat, somehow, someway.  Like always, so far.  The gone know more than the present.  Missing someone on the roll call this morning.

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