Wednesday, March 26, 2025

Prospect Park 1985

It was summer
and then
it was winter
and then
summer again
Standing on the bridge
gazing down at the water
fast faster to some distant river.

It never freezes over.

The tales tossed into the rapids
carried away
churning foam obscures
anything too heavy to be 
swept away
but some secrets stay
caught in the rocks

I know what's down there

I saw it

Before

He loves me
he loves not
he loves me
he loves me not
rose petals fall from my fingers
float downstream
as sweet smelling as a funeral trellis

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