Summers are getting poignant.   When I was younger the summer’s were relentlessly, joyously moving in one direction, like a river.  They unfolded new and without a past. Now I still float along in my summer, but I am seeing them through the eyes of memory even as I live them new, now.  Or maybe…

the fresh new girlfriend
wears a lost lover’s perfume:
46th summer.

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One Response to 4th

  1. Bobbi says:

    44th summer: too hot already

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