Dusk now absorbs the shadows of the day,
Before the rising moon can light our dreams
I pause and remember the way you smiled.
A buzzard eats a possum by the road,
At the edge of a clearing in the woods,
A grandfather clock strikes the wrong half hour.
A withered apple tree sends forth blossoms
For the last time and for the last season
An old man reads a book of poetry.
Walking through the quiet ancient graveyard
A moss-covered unreadable marker
Disintegrates into the yielding earth.
Wading into the river of vast space
I embrace the place of your begoning.
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