the ritual is always the same
the long ride South
to hide out in an
office
where nobody sees me
trying to escape the heat of summer
in which there is no cheer
Labor Day looming
ahead
bringing only promise of cold
and rain and falling leaves
a time I used to find
comfort in
a time when I tried to embrace change
but find nothing beyond it
but a void
a question of what
might happen
could happen
I wait for to happen
but do not know what
it is
I wait for
caught up in a poetic web
I can only translate
I do not understand
war waged weekly
now ancient history
she, me, they
moving to something else
something uncertain
maybe even something unreal
I don't believe
I rely on the rituals
the morning coffee
the long drive to the fortress of a desk
she has never seen or
touched
and so unlike my Harry Potter Hive up north
has no stain of memory
her touch has never touched this
so there is no
lingering memory
of good or bad
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