Sunday, June 29, 2008

"So they remember you when you're gone"

Life seems shorter after dark:
you can barely see your fingertips.

The concrete path ahead ends
in the umbra of the streetlight's edge.

What's out there?
No one knows.

Acre after acre
of unplowed, unfurrowed, virgin land.

Mortality is closer
when the sun has gone to bed.

The stubborn say "I'll beat this,"
while the tired say "I'm dead."

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