Sunday Poem

Where Does Winter Grow

Where does winter
grow — among your
exhales that will
never be enough? I
see now that I have
been wrong about
everything, and
how breathing needs
love to sustain
it — a life spent
promised to uncertainty,
moonlight harvesting
my dreams between
fantasy and failure,
divine care letting
you slip away, a
moment lost each
time I remember
what might have
been true.

by Robert Darlington
Poetry Feast