walked the river amongst april’s still-dead trees.
can’t remember any spring mornings this drenched
in tired, wet autumn.
“summer’s getting skipped this year.”

it took me thirty eight years to realize:

the things that make you feel alive
aren’t always the things worth living for.

and while diamonds. bottles. lovers may
hold you like no other, when it all falls down,
the red maple leaf browned, you may find
the foundation laid was wicked, and the life
you left behind was littered with gold.