Tuesday, October 18, 2016

GUSTS, Number 24, Fall/Winter 2016

snow-bent
the rushes that held nests
of marsh wrens
I close my weary eyes
and turn into a song


curls of clouds
become passerines
each autumn
the low-angled light
invites me to follow


stonescapes
along the arroyo
rain-spattered
my every bone thirsty
for one last taste of you

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