… rantings of a depressive procrastinator. Did I mention, I write? …

Almost Forgotten Saturday

Long ago. Morning. In a maple tree
heavy with seed pods,
two slight boys
stand, crowing,
on budding branches
whirling prospective
saplings, like answers to prayers,
toward the earth.

I listen
to doves’ gray-throated cooing
in the daybreak’s damp.
I listen equally to the clank of distant tinkering
in backyards and tool sheds
on a Saturday almost forgotten.

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