The Day Before Winter

A walk, shortened,

in October bluster.

Black branches flailing

shake off leaves to the bonfire of fall.

Escape, they do, in a tumble dry dance.

Carpet the catwalks.

Stick to the shoes.

The future's opaque.

Carrying, carrying things.

Stumbling towards rest.

Knuckles of anxiousness

push up, under the jawline.

Boxes,

unopened these years.

A pair of neglected sneakers,

remembrance of running,

regret now

they didn't die a natural death.

This material mountain,

trove of trivialities,

hobbling our limp

to tomorrow.

By Lee Dunn

From: Canada

Website: https://secret-lifeof.com/

Twitter: 66human

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