The Last Season Poem by RIC BASTASA

i now welcome the last season
it is not winter, it is the season of
forgetting, and next to it is spring
not really spring in the manner that
flowers bloom again
but it is the season for us who divided
by a very distant silence
shall begin a new journey
alone, because we want to think some more
without us together
a pair of tracks, crossing a river
a new slate of water erasing what
we have gone through
for we rise from the river and
approach another plain
it is the grass now that conceals
what our feet tread upon
it is the sound of softness
that greenness of
undiscovered ways