Half past one, and the blazing Sun
sets fire on the frosty treeline descending,
and in my mind are fighting
the cold amber of the landscape
and you, brought to this moment
by the folding time, from
past years and chill graves,
from frigid exile, memories;
and you win, until the red light
wanes in the nocturnal tide of stars;
an hour I have, grieving.
07.12.2020
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