Roz Kaveney (rozk) wrote,
Roz Kaveney
rozk

Evening's first poem - more on the way

RECESSIONAL

Minutes and decades on their mayfly wings
I do not notice them until the sand
runs out. Another red bill in my hand
that I must pay. Each nightingale that sings

a different generation. Memory
says there were more birds once but still I hear
those notes, that hold me, still. A different year
a different lover. Or perhaps it's me.

How could I tell if it is I that change?
Some things are constant in me, but my heart
falls for each beauty, tender at the start
then bittersweet then doomed. I must arrange

these things thus. Die for love, and am reborn,
pressing my heart blood from each passing thorn.
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