These days are not grey
as I will remember.
Days of low fresco skies
watercolor apples
life, still life.

These nights not empty
as I will remember
of silver moons
cinnamon leaf-light.

So much depends on forgetting.
But one promise
I will remember
every day
each jewel of light
grinds down to cool darkness.

By markthegrey

I am a biologist, author, poet, professor, and parent. I nest in Aurora, IL with my spouse and about two to four kids.

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