A Season’s End

“The bottom of the sea is cruel”  Hart Crane in Voyages
Two minutes ’til noon,
more grey than amber,
that April day
when sea poppies
had yet to burst their bloom,
You entered into that dismal zone
of season’s end, an area
of expediency, that blend of ugliness
and beauty, premature,
this bottomless decline, and yet,
as inevitable as the rising tide.
Was it your desire for order
out of chaos? A neatly folded
overcoat, your final note.

2 thoughts on “A Season’s End

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