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Click hereFull moon through the birch trees
just shy of six a.m.
thinking, once again
who I really am,
Womb of morning coffee
clear sky overhead
does there come a time
when it’s all done and said?
I guess we never know
until the day arrives
we read the last stanza
of our short poetic lives,
Wake the final morning
the jury, judge and rope
hoping for a pardon
but having little hope,
I watch the moon set
stand naked on the ground
morning freight train hollers
its level-crossing sound,
Poet in the caboose
thinking parallel thoughts
watching the same stars
connecting the same dots,
Someone I enjoy
in her hat and Carhartt pants
The freight train to morning
our on and off romance,
We’ll meet for a late breakfast
read each other’s scrawl
then amble to the boarding house
to her room, at the end of the hall,
High point
Womb of morning coffee
Most of the ends are too expected
does there come a time
when it’s all done and said?
but having little hope,
connecting the same dots,
as if the dots are connected for me
but I gave it a five