On the far range alone
Behind thistle and haystacks bundled neatly into cylinders
Lanterns light guiding home
To miss a little; long for a lot, whittled wood into thin air
Small objects of the mind are
Memories.
They can’t be bought but we do share
Statutes of limitations demanding that…
I forget you.
I don’t care to follow the rules
If for fools
Love’s folly
Small statues to commemorate become burning effigies
Sting worse than the redness of my eyes or the tears of this legacy
Left to me or left me
Bereft it unsettles me
In death to lie peacefully
Awake in life, still a piece of me
To go beyond this far range and be gone
The ghost of you right next to me
I scream at the wake of dawn
Dreams of our far farm
© The Sad Owl
