Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Wane

The path lies stark and clear.
No one else is here.

The horizon glows magenta, spent.
I hear a voice on the wind

now and then, a woman's, tense.
I steer by the morning star.

My heel slides off leaves.  Dense
shade -- rows of maple retreat as far

as my eyes can see.  Blue white fear
and my heart starts as I grow near.

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