By Victoria McGloughlin

Then what the told-out story of those twenty years? What of the
ORANGE BUDS
claiming that a
war and the grand opera were proof enough
of thee, thy
unfolding,
TWILIGHT
The sun just gone, the eager light dispell’d     I too will soon be dispell’d
YOU LINGERING SPARSE LEAVES OF ME
YOU lingering
And I well-shorn
You tokens
no grain of now;
you overstay’d of time,
my soul-dearest leaves