In a simple way
an element of life,
by design, catches fire.
Its confusion has
a directness to it.
. . . . .
Miles from here the stirrings of fall.
. . . . .
Casually, a flock
of Canadian geese
circle then disappear.
Yet their shadow
lingers, dictating a
quietness that swallows
an initial beginning.
With a kind of detached
sweetness an inception
becomes lost, and stays
like that – hanging
on that vast horizon of
another's interpretation
in other shades of light.
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