A Requiem

February 1, 2017

rain-on-trees

All day the sun began to set. It fell slowly, a rain among
autumnal leaves, falling upon a lake, and falling into
your eyes. The dawn was mortal, you said, and everything
it touches dies. The mystery of summer has passed us by,
and memories of other suns upon your face. We gaze into the air,
the look from our eyes floating over the lake, somewhere

trailing off among the trees. The birds have gone already, was all
you wanted to say, and the sound of the words hovered in the air
as ghosts of birds might. This is what the haunted is, flesh
growing old, an emptiness of birds inside our skin. If I should see
your eyes again, the sun would have horizon there, extinguished in
its fall. The dark, my friend, is a gift. No one takes it away.

E. D. Blodgett

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