Still Water

Each winter, the pond is still,

Ice closing like a scar.

Each spring, the wound reopens

To the shimmer of trout

And each summer without you

Still turns to fall, without pause.

The trees bare, the air sharp,

The lamp by the docks

Casting one less shadow

Into the soundless night.

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Stephen Joseph

Stephen Joseph

Poetry and Pop Culture is the name of the game. Stephen is an author living in Rochester with his wife and two children.