crescent moon
not a missed mark, arc
through study of slivers we
reach understanding
neutral translator
hardly. you soften her words
like milk on broke bread
winter skeletons
trees white knuckled branches
snow lace parasols
old man, you disappoint
but friend,' my heart sinks,
'what good's a tugboat on a
ship filled with water?'
by gone i mean done
like a stone's polish finish
end of an era
(trapped) your hair ensnares
soft filaments, i give in
a spider's envy
early that winter
that morning, goose bumps took flight
on your hand's light breeze
surfacing from depths
your hip bone crests the surface
the exhale of whale
stray gray hair,
loose white wire. old house with an
unfinished attic.
straight from the cloud gate
gallops of rain turned gallons
troughs emptied of thirst
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