Aching in the Bones

The anticipation of winter begins
with an aching in the bones
and is followed soon after
by an aching far deeper.

In the root of me,
well below and beyond,
I have been excavated,
hollowed out —

not in preparation
for something greater
or more fulfilling,
but because my time is past.

My time has passed.

A too short spring
followed by
a too hot summer,
followed by
an all too short fall;

I can taste
the cinnamon and frost
that mark
my waning years.

What follows this
is what follows
all things that rise: descent.

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