Thursday, August 2, 2012

28 September 2011

This morning, in the rain, your death pulled my sinus dry though no tears to shed as a slow mourning dries the emotion of loss - evaporating - it just crumbles... dust to collect against the empty memories left unswept. My most detailed memory of you is when I was six; a background to times deemed banal. You have diminished like your mind wrung dry, a prelude to my inevitable demise. But isn't it always about the self - truly detached from an earlier generation the unmoored roots of aging.

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