Wont to Do

On this night
of our second anniversary,
Venus burns her lamp
remarkably bright.
How odd, I thought,
pocketing my own small
flashlight. I couldn’t help
but guess she and Mars
were arm in arm
on their walk through
the pasture, too,
but they are not
as close as we.
He went down and she
shone all alone,
mopping up the aftermath
as love is wont to do.

2015

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Elegy for Geoffrey Greg Brown, a Fine Hen

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