In The Window Too Late in Autumn

Like Tink, whom I’m sure
flew in my window
on cool fall evenings
to inquire if

in my traveling
I had seen Peter’s
shadow, as it had
gone missing again.

She always loved him
more than me, even
in times when Peter
was cruel and too mean.

Tink is the reason
I can sense those nights
coming back to me,
my breath in the air.

It’s almost too cruel
to see her, her hands
small and too silent,
banging on the pane.

* five syllable lines, because something is wrong here, and wrong things seem to fit on fives for me. quatrains (four line stanzas) because something is right here and right things feel right that way for me. End stopped stanzas, but for the first, because the conversation starts well, but life. tends. to. intrude.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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