Peter O’Neill ~ The Sabre of Joseph Roth

For Adam Henry Carrière

A wedge of matinal illumination
In burnished gold silently filters
Between the folds at the bottom of the
Heavy curtains, announcing quietly
The arrival of Summer, after almost
Half a year of Winter. You cherish
What is rare because of the perilousness
Of it ever returning, like the laughter
You once enjoyed in the classroom,
Its contraband making it vomit inducing.
Such is the risk of all leave-taking;
The wager in the weight of the delay
Which is contrasted starkly with the
Vehement metaphysics of all human decay.

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