Last Years Goodbyes

But it was December, snow and catechism, end into beginning, twilight yearning and frozen morning. It was possible you were right, that I was eleven months of Sunday with no respite. I can't help living a life of remorse, but your disappointment in me doesn't make me feel worse. As December fades my frailties linger, the changed locks, reversed clocks, the mourning country singer. You listened to everyday except to me, but what did it matter with nothing to say. When I look back I think of the good and the bad, the ugly was in my head, or was it in what was said, or was it how you saw saw my mind, how I pawned a life that had greatness in the palms of it's grave. The Spruce's leaf, the season's remember, that when you left me, it was December.