eventual life cycles;
strength
of months
defeated.
Somewhere in the
process of maintaining
some wind-blown
daily pattern, or
lack of,
one must give way
and let go.
Shedding it like
discarded skin
upon which
imprinted feats
forever lie-
come and say goodbye.
I found someone
to shed the locks of
days long-lived, in sun-streaked
and dead-end strands
that I carried
like a badge.
Eleven dollars
and conversations of
Bolivia- how this
town is a positive;
the negatives
yet light
in my shoes.
I didn't know
it would fall so smoothly;
what worlds have
been removed.
The days of
the river remain.
