shining in a clear sky
that keeps me coming
back to autumn.
All the invalids, all the
crippled scenery around them
still praising babies,
fresh new life
in the shell of imperfect light.
I can see your spirit
dancing in your eyes.
I want you to touch me softly,
where the deer go to lie,
on a blanket you brought
from your childhood, battered
by many journeys, into my
second reach of arms.
That set of cells is gone,
that reached for another.
That beaming sun is gone,
that smote us while we lay.
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