At midnight without a moon the roses
sting and scent and tempt the bees
that are missing now no one knowing why.

I look through my glasses to see verses
smooth in the distance craggy close
some lines rejected or embraced or lit up.

I woke up wondering fretfully about books
I left long ago in an abandoned apartment
wanted like candy, missed like socks.

I walk to the partk fighting my ankles
the child in me takes hold of arms and waves
don’t you recognize me any longer?

Yes, you are my oldest friend if not
the truest, your promises flown south
with the bees and geese and unfinished poems.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
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