Sonnet in Trimeter

by Thomas March

The morning I left town,
I saw it on the tracks—
the bottle we drank down,
to ease us on our backs.

If it no longer stood,
I’d let our goodbye stand.
But you made sure it would.
You steadied it with sand.

I could have let it pass—
considered it a sweet
coincidence in glass
and gravel from the street—

no more than I could stay—
the weight of waking day.

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Filed under Issue 4, Poetry

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