My days are shorter,
the clocks will wind backward
the night sky loom deep into the onset of winter
lonelier evening,
vacant stares,
a constant yearn to know, what
we might remember is only now left
in a safe vacuum of
once before,
when everything that mattered in the moment,
has suddenly turned upside down,
pieces spilling into the fabric of our own
well-being,
none so powerful as the notion
of believing,
once being so swept into the arctic winds of defeat,
it would take forever to step outside of
the misery of becoming
just that lone wanderer
we always agreed,
would ne’er
return
