Wednesday, April 29, 2020

Cattails, April 2020

the patina
of an old moon . . .
steeple bell


memory fog
where does it go
when it's gone


daily vice
I'd give up migraines
if I could


underneath
a stand of bracken
we discover
the blue sky inside
each tiny bell


our school bus
waxing and waning
over frosted hills . . .
we huddle together
in a herd of laughter





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