Last rose - Humera — 2017 Photograph by Ben Weinberg

Perhaps regrets are inevitable,
to cry for loss,
a reality as we turn and turn and turn again.
More the fear to never dare,
to inward hold, locked away,
comforted in safety’s pale mirage,
to live as shadows.

Yesterday, I saw the summer’s last furled rose.
A couple at a cafe table, coats cast off, leaning close.
A brown-eyed woman smoking outside a beauty shop.
An elderly couple elegantly turned out, arm in arm.
All of us, like the seconds from the ticking clock
filling the morning room,
or dust caught in a sunbeam.

November leaves — Pozuelo — 2017 — photograph by Ben Weinberg

Writer, walker, poet, educator. Commercial fisherman, builder, donut maker, organic grower. Boston, U. City, Maine, South Africa, Madrid.

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