Hours like November trees
denuded silent invisible
sidewalks coated with answers
like gaudy rings
on knobby fingers
a moth in the darkness
I am unmentionable
my most joyous years elided
now quiet as a cloud I exist
in the passive tense shouldn’t I
have a name wouldn’t I have
etched traces of myself
into life’s rough surface
or maybe it is supposed to be
enough to dwell (unnoticed)
in the shadowy depths
of a willow-graced stream
(c) 2018, by Hannah Six
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