The frost glistens
as the sun struggles
to find the will
to pull itself above
the cold hard line
of the autumn horizon.
Pale, weaker
than it once was, but
persistent,
always.
We’ll help it out, toss it an extra hour
and we’ll walk out the door
through faded dawns…
For what? Weeks?
Days, really,
before the dark regains its balance,
shadow and fog descend, and
we begin and end
the daily trial of our labors
possessed by night.
10/29/2013
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