ode to returning

ode to returning


there is no other place

and when I return,
it will be for the last time.

thinking they were you
I played some old records

every ruthless chair will turn away
ending on your shore

washed up from your face,
even my stories will be you.
the voice of every poem,

the green in every tree.

a yellow room.
golden glowing mornings,
and blue mountains of buildings.
dusky red brick twilights –
the getting out of keys in doorways.


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