the grass lies flat behind
the tree line. a memory
moves in rhythm to the
sway of branches above
faintness of breath as
an alibi, shared.
sweetness surrendered
in mild apocalypse
come and go, to and fro
these ebbs and flows. a
timeless pattern too relentless
to steady the season
dissipate into the night,
an ache as thick as loss.
quandaries swell in blindness
as distance takes its toll
(Image from ourartworld.com)
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