You’re looking like 9:30, he said

A feathered system
spread darkly
like conditional surrender,
a feast of summer winds
intruding upon winter.

“You don’t leave easily,” he said.
But leaving is irrelevant to me;
it’s staying despite foibles that matters.

Evenings wrapped
in such a way
to endear the listener to sing along,
albeit like a whip-poor-will
and not the sage sleeping varmint.

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