October
The places of firefly catchings are
no longer walkable in the dark.  I
will have to return to them by day
because time has changed us both.
Sitting walls covered with weeds, a
ramshackle tree-house of skin exploration
a victim of bending nails and the weather.
The stream seems higher, closer to shore,
paths less sure, but the tree still bridges
it as it always did.  Even the stones
look smaller perhaps carved by rain and
current, or my memory.  The fireflys
taunt me tonight � �come and see what else
has changed as you forgot ... or because.�

�The moon lights these steps just enough
and trees are still for climbing.�
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