They fell into old habits,
not as pleasant
as falling into
each other’s arms,
older now but still mysterious,
familiar
if only in dreams.
We fall where we must,
some select a home,
others are merely
bright red
and yellow leaves in autumn,
familiar
if merely a memory.
Gravity weighs on us all,
tugging us into orbits
as we cycle though
another revolution,
resolved to find joy in the
familiar —
this perfect space.
About the Poet
Phillip Knight Scott is a native of Durham, North Carolina, where he lives with his wife and son. He has published one book of poetry, Paint the Living, Plant the Dead, and one novel, The Alien in the Backseat, which can be found along with new poems on his website, phillipknightscott.com.
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.
Vita Brevis Press. 