A Lost Spring


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Eugin Robinson

A Lost Spring

The warehouse, one should move

With caution lest he stumbles.

Dark attics, dumped papers,

Smelt of yellow.

An armchair that looks like a shipwreck,

A rain that thundered down with fury,

A legion of cats, all domesticated,

That died one by one.

Then a park bench, on it a receding twilight.

With birds smeared all over.

And squalor, cobwebbed wraths

Fights, separations.

Splintering giggles,

All yours, my beloved,

And, in a corner, your

Symmetrical smile hanging in the air.

Your smell penetrating

Nostrils, as fresh as it was real.

Spring reigns in that corner,

But ever receding, ever receding.

A flood, no, a twister, I stored you

Up in that twilight, intertwined

Like snakes.

This copy is posted as it was received. It has not been edited by TLM

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