I am in the autumn leaves,

the aroma of a passing season,

the space between lines of days

dripping from edges with sounds of

violins mentioning my name.

All paths look similar, like dream faces pulled from

clouds; the sun marks me in the last

of warmth.

I am somewhere like a bookmark

between pages of thoughts, on a beach of youth,

tan, bristling with carelessness.

Waves of day splash cold emerald-green

surrounding my ankles on a shoreline of where

I should be.


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