Friday, April 05, 2019

The Bamboo Hut, Spring 2019

fog settles eventually all things become nothing

morning chill
two ladybirds trimmed
with pearls

the blue hour . . .
you slipped away
without a sound

a lodestar
glistens above
our bow
we follow the light
into breaking dawn

grief rides my back

like a cowboy
on a rank horse

spurs dug deep
into the flanks
of memory

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