Labor Day
August is a month
for remembering lost loves.
Loves gone and not pursued,
except in memories of feelings
that wrapped you tightly
in days past, that
caught you close and held on,
released…
Some loves left you,
flaring out with firework bangs,
dying even as they lived.
Others linger in the mind
as a restive breath that rises and falls,
a chorus of life,
relegated to the background, but
ready to become sound.
– E Bacon, January 7, 1999
