Another Season

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A flock of geese fly overhead

Toward another season

While I stand in the shell

of what used to be

our chapel.

The foundation holds

Ashes waiting for spring.

as a new church looks on

With its antiseptic sheen.

I prefer weathered bricks

And weeds.

It’s where I sat as a student,

Where I learned best.

It still is.

The geese honk for me to join,

But I refuse.

Spring will find me, I say,

One day.

I’ll wait here,

Where I belong.