October 3 [Book of October]


October 3

Every wind is coming from the past. It began earlier

And it may enliven even the browned-out ground level
Settling of the sycamore’s spring, its old news

Swirling at my ankles at the edge of the library lot.
What did I forget to return? What crisp regret?

2 thoughts on “October 3 [Book of October]

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