Fin Part Trois

Like the leaves squeezed into bags that line my street,
it’s time for me to rest my fingers’ beat.
Like the epic finale to Purple Rain,
this   train   that’s   mine   has   bled   sweet   feasts.

Each  car that chugs along:
an   overcrowded   taste–
at the intersections of so long ago
and just now–
of   gleeful   childhood   scenes
and   overwhelming   grownup   trees.

All   of   it   flies   past   my   barred   window.
Till I am safely back here
looking into the cold eyes of winter coming.

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2 thoughts on “Fin Part Trois

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