Struggling light. Twilight dissolves the day
Deep into mists of memory.
I watch the sunset darkening the garden,
Draining the autumnal colours of that vivacity
Death lends to the edge of life.
A black wall denser than the darkest night
Descends, separating the mild months from old
winter
With an almost fatal finality.
We cannot step back through the wall to summer,
Time is a one way ticket however hard we argue.
The leaves are beginning to drop, cover the asphalt
path
With a moist carpet slippery as ice floes,
Next April almost implied by their transient beauty.
Beneath the fallen leaves a pile of surgical masks,
Used once, then quietly dumped without due care
By families walking to and from the school.
Their pale blue makes me fear the sky may fall.
I will never stoop to clear away these masks,
They reference undisclosed infections
Known only to the people who have worn them.
I open the front door, it is time to re-enter the house.
My supper is already cooked, I have only to reheat it.
I wipe my feet on the mat, but keep on my surgical mask
Before I know for certain I am alone.
In the quiet of the evening I imagine footsteps behind me.
Friend or foe? - Neighbour or would be thief?
The street lights flick on suddenly their silver tinted dawn.
My shadow glides before me into the hall.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
October 27th. - 28th. 2021.
I have always found the few days at the end of October and the beginning of November to be wierdly claustrophobic. A time shadowed by regrets.
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