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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

For Us

I am gathering up the leaves,
piles of brown, yellow, red.
I am gathering up memory
like the clothes of a closet
being picked up, rehung.
It is what I remember
when the cold gathers in autumn,
the mist of my breath
trailing off,
lifting and pushing
what has accumulated,
what summer discarded
when we woke and found the day.

I find the last flowering jewels
scattered,
gold and oranges.
I wish your hands were here,
your fingers like a vase.
I’d put them in your hands,
red zinnias,
pale impatiens,
confused daisies,
stubborn dandelions,
a part of longing.
Your hands full of flowers.

What I would give
to fill them with tangible kisses!
But now,
I am making a new place
for the sun,
to put light into the darkness,
to bring them back
overflowing with spring,
new life,
new love,
a new returning for us.

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