Middle C vibrates
against my forefinger.
It rings for yesterday
and bleeds faithfully
into tomorrow
with you there,
near the window,
regarding me.
Our years have
grown accustomed
to our faces;
life's traces and
blusters born to
moments shared in the
dim twilight
of ancient lore.
Here we are, as one;
older, wiser, and
feeling new.
February 21,2019
© Pamela A. Lamppa,
All rights reserved
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