July 16

    What I hope you’ll know, someday when you’re old

How to tell the difference between the fake
love that attacks quickly and the love you make
over decades, and when that love leaves, the ache
you manage to survive each morning when you wake
to find the sun unextinguished, rising over the lake
without respect for the stammering wail and quake
you were sure you would not survive, and the stake
placed firmly in the ground, and the leaves you shake
over logs and the gasoline you splash as you plan to take
action. All that happens before your last heartbreak.



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

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