It's the kind of energy that needs a quiet autumn evening,
so I give it one.
Long strides past smooth silent trees and
the rippling canal, lungs cracking,
an orange leafy smell away from
noise and candy,
which haven't happened yet but are imminent.
My garden is the only spot of bright color
left in the whole black-and-dead yard,
fun-fear-colored by jack-o-lanterns and plastic tombstones.
Minute upon minute I put behind me,
though not miles
(there are no miles in a small lake-town),
but my legs are not tired when I return,
and I feel like I may never be able to walk enough.
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