October 8 [Book of October]

October 8

I’m collecting my life in quarters.
Every year a bit of alloy. In my palm

A pile of tiny time machines.
Some I have kept close:

A single moonbeam, a summer
Alone, a goat, a glimpse

Of what won’t dissolve
Even when devalued.

I’ve tried to ignore the years
When you forgot my name

And then your voice
And then your self

Because there’s still no coin
Of a realm where you’re gone

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s