April’s
evening thrust its light
Long through
the aging glass
That cased
your home
The things
that came to own your soul
Grinning at
their blithe rebirth
As they know
from whence they came
They stirred
your chills
The tap of
your spine
The voice of
Reason
That longed
for you to return your sights
In the aging
night of life
Every thing
you had cast away
To the great
black unknown
Sneered at
you in the white brick
The character
of your home
Your son
grasping at the dust
That sparkled
in April’s evening light
Reborn in
your aspirations
Breathing of
what came before
A bete noire
in the letting window
Jason Greendyk, www.jasongreendyk.com
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