Bent with weight

Trees pale reflected
in dark glow of meadow
flooded
colours of a lifetime
etched against your face
line by line I run my finger
down each crease
ask you to remember
how they came to be,
share with me the years we’ve
been apart.

Autumns forty three
or more you first took
breath upon
this earth when I
was still a beating star
in heaven’s itinerary,
maybe I watched you fall to form,
you grow at mother’s breast
those far flung years ago
how would I know
we’d come to this?

Day traces day
against this end of year
you walk by tinted lake
and I am here in city’s bustle;
but still each moment in mind’s eye
I touch the creases
kiss the contours
shed the tears, and yet again
I wait,
like autumn trees devoid of leaves
who break

if asked to bear too much.

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