sutured to wet trees in thaw

sutured to wet trees in thaw
pinned to clouds in pale sky floating
I in late February hear no train

there is a radio on the run
stained snow exudes
slow water light dripping

this immanence of return
breaking suns into new days
is anticipation on air ways




Poetry by Bob
Read 629 times
Written on 2016-02-22 at 15:16

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