Sebastian Moineau


Autumn (A Year From Now)

</>I have eyed a fading hue that calls out to the cold
This dire gradient of living, dying, dead
That beckons winter to slip through every crack
In the silent house that keeps the secrets we’d forgotten.
A year from now I will unbury the bones
Dusting them off with a care that time has hidden
And they will conform to my shape with such delicate precision
As when they had lain congruous to my own.
Belonging to an entangled form still ascribed to every sleepless night

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