no forgiveness, and why would I ask?
the wind is cold, though spring approaches
offerings of blue-skied days and false warmth
I am not deceived, old enough to know nature’s fickle promise
my misdeeds mine and acknowledged
holes in walls, friendships killed by unkind word
scrapes on floorboards, aspirations felled by glaring fault
dust on ceilings, dreams given the lie by lazy inaction
all of these I have done and will live accordingly
I stand in the doorway and listen to the rumble of the train
unable to remember how long I’ve lived
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