the snow on the driveway, October
snow falling wet with its weight
disappears too early for its time
too late for the rain falling
freezing melting into earth wishing
for the cold to come back
(i never said i'd come back)
and how could you deny me twelve bells
at nine, church bells, a clocktower broken
from endless Sundays racing with memory
of youth passing like leaves too quick
to touch but slow enough to see, to try
and to fail. (slow enough to hope for)
then we said to meet in Drenthe at
noon, for coffee and talk time, a
song and an explanation for your
busyness (and i never said i'd come)
so here we stand where we once were
silent with darting eyes and frozen
sighs with nothing more to say but
so much more to do and think and look
at this place, so much the same with the
lazy dreams still filling the entrance
(they're all that hold the building up)
and waiting like a mist caught between the
sun and the cold ground, still searching
for the design to lay their collective
head down to sleep,
in somno,

content to be a dream.

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