Fidelity – Poem


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

These nights not empty 
as I will remember,
of silver moons,
cinnamon 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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