beside the dock . . .
diving bees
moths circling
the porch light . . .
dust storm
dancing
under the stars . . .
fruit bats
a white peony
in the black pond . . .
wilted moon
at sunrise
how the golden light
becomes you
strewing sparks
from your electric hair
the scent
of cottonwood
w a f t i n g
I still feel your breath
lifting tendrils of my hair
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